The evening shadows stretched long across the marble floor of Vincenzo Marino's office. He stood at his desk, reviewing contracts, though his mind was elsewhere—on Elena's tearful eyes, on the red mark across her cheek, on the way she had tried to hide her pain as if she deserved none of his attention.
It made his blood boil.
For too long, he had tolerated Amara's presence—her attempts at control, her shameless schemes, her belief that her family's wealth entitled her to everything, even him. But this time, she had crossed a line that could never be erased.
A soft knock on his door broke the silence. Without waiting for his reply, Amara stepped inside, her perfume filling the air like poison. She wore a silk dress that clung to her figure, her lips painted a deep crimson.
"Vincenzo," she purred, closing the door behind her. "You've been avoiding me. I thought perhaps… we could talk."
Her voice dripped with seduction, but Vincenzo's jaw only clenched tighter. He turned his gaze back to the papers, refusing to look at her.
"There is nothing to discuss, Amara."
She laughed lightly, stepping closer. "Oh, come now. Don't act so cold. You and I both know we belong together. Everyone does. That little secretary of yours—she doesn't fit here. She's a distraction. A countryside bumpkin who doesn't deserve the air you breathe."
Vincenzo's hand froze mid-page. Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes narrowing like storm clouds.
"What did you just say?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Amara smirked, mistaking his tone for interest. She sauntered closer, her fingers brushing his shoulder. "I'm only telling you the truth. She's nothing, Vincenzo. She doesn't belong in your world. You should thank me for reminding her of that."
Before she could blink, Vincenzo grabbed her wrist and slammed her back against the wall. The sound echoed through the office, and Amara's eyes widened in shock.
"Don't," Vincenzo growled, his face inches from hers, "ever touch Elena again. Don't even speak her name with that venom in your mouth."
Amara gasped, her composure cracking. "V-Vincenzo…"
"You think you can slap her, humiliate her, and then come here to seduce me?" His voice thundered, sharp enough to slice through the silence. "You think wealth gives you the right to torment someone who has done nothing but work with dignity and grace?"
He pressed her wrist harder against the wall, his fury unmasked. "Let me be clear, Amara. Elena Rossi is under my protection. Insult her again, and you'll regret ever stepping foot in this company."
Tears welled in Amara's eyes, though they were far from genuine. "I only did it because I love you! Can't you see? I've always been by your side. She doesn't belong, she never will!"
Vincenzo's glare hardened. "Love?" His voice dripped with disgust. "If this is your idea of love, then you know nothing of it. All you know is obsession. Control. Arrogance."
Amara trembled under his grip, but still her pride pushed her to speak. "She's a countryside girl! A nobody! Do you really mean to throw everything away—for her?"
Vincenzo released her suddenly, stepping back as if her touch disgusted him. "Yes," he said coldly. "If protecting her means throwing away everything I've tolerated from you—then so be it."
Amara stumbled forward, stunned by his words. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For once, her flawless mask had cracked.
Vincenzo's voice dropped to a chilling calm. "Leave my office. And hear me well, Amara—if you ever harm Elena again, I will make sure the Deluca name carries no weight in this city."
Amara's face paled. She stared at him, searching for a trace of hesitation, but found none. His eyes were iron, his tone absolute.
With trembling hands, she straightened her dress and forced a shaky smile. "You'll regret this, Vincenzo," she whispered, her voice trembling between threat and heartbreak. "One day, she'll ruin you."
Without another word, she stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
Vincenzo sank into his chair, his hands tightening into fists. His chest heaved, but his mind was clear. He had chosen his side, and there was no going back.
He closed his eyes briefly, seeing Elena's face—her quiet strength, her innocence, her pain. A promise formed in his heart, one he had already spoken with his actions:
As long as he lived, no one would harm Elena Rossi again.