The night was thick with tension as Ferrara's men gathered in a darkened warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The flickering lights cast long shadows on the faces of the gathered crowd—hardened men who had served Vincent Ferrara for years, men who knew the streets better than anyone. Ferrara himself stood in the middle of them, his sharp eyes scanning the room, already formulating his next move.
Vincent Ferrara was not a man who tolerated failure, and the constant interference by Ezra had pushed him to his limit. He had underestimated the bond between Ezra and Celia—believing the marriage to be a mere transaction, a temporary arrangement. But now, it was clear. Ezra would fight to his last breath to protect her.
Ferrara's mind raced as he replayed every failed attempt to take Celia. The attack at her apartment. The ambush in the streets. And now, Ezra's men were on high alert, making it nearly impossible to get close to her.
"Enough is enough," Ferrara growled, slamming his fist against the metal table. His lieutenants flinched, knowing better than to challenge his wrath. "Ezra thinks he's invincible, but he's wrong. We'll strike where it hurts the most."
One of the men stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with caution. "We've already tried going after Celia, boss. Ezra's too fast. Too prepared. If we go after him directly, it'll start a war we're not ready for."
Ferrara glared at him. "We're already at war. The problem is we're playing it on his terms. That changes now."
A murmur went through the room as Ferrara's men exchanged uncertain glances. They had seen what Ezra was capable of, the influence and power he commanded both on the streets and within the underworld. But Ferrara was right. The longer they let Ezra dictate the rules, the longer they would remain at a disadvantage.
Ferrara leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Ezra's weakness isn't just Celia. It's his empire. He's stretched too thin, too many enemies waiting for a chance to strike. We'll start by cutting off his supply lines, disrupting his business, and making him lose control of his men. Then, when he's vulnerable, we'll move in and take what's ours."
The lieutenant nodded, his face grim. "And Celia?"
Ferrara's eyes gleamed with dark intent. "Once Ezra's empire crumbles, she'll be ours. She was promised to us, and I intend to collect what's rightfully mine."
---
Back at Celia's Apartment
Celia sat by the window, her eyes distant as the events of the past days continued to haunt her. Ezra had left hours ago, but the weight of their conversation lingered heavily in the air. She couldn't stop thinking about what Gabriel had told her—that she had been nothing more than collateral, a pawn in her father's debt.
And yet, she couldn't deny the truth she had seen in Ezra's eyes when he had confessed his love. As much as she wanted to distance herself from the danger, her heart betrayed her. Ezra had become more than just a husband in name. He had become someone she cared about deeply, despite the chaos surrounding them.
Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from Ezra.
"Stay home tonight. I've arranged for extra protection outside your building. Ferrara is making moves."
Celia's chest tightened as she read the message. She had known the danger was escalating, but seeing it spelled out like that sent a fresh wave of fear through her. Ferrara was relentless, and it seemed there was no escape from the tangled web of violence and power that had ensnared her life.
She stood up, unable to shake the feeling that something was coming, something big. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, to disappear, but she knew that running wouldn't solve anything. Not anymore.
She needed answers. She needed to know the full truth about what had happened to her family, why Ferrara had such a tight grip on her life, and why Ezra was willing to risk everything for her.
Determined, she grabbed her jacket and headed out, ignoring Ezra's warning. She knew he had people watching her, but this was something she had to do alone. There was only one place she could go for the answers she needed—the small café where Gabriel had said he would be if she ever needed to talk.
---
At the Café
Gabriel looked up as Celia entered the dimly lit café, her face pale and drawn, but with a fire in her eyes that he recognized all too well.
"You shouldn't be out," Gabriel said, standing as she approached his table. "Ezra would lose his mind if he knew you were walking around unprotected."
Celia sat down across from him, her expression grim. "I need answers, Gabriel. The truth. No more half-truths or cryptic warnings. I need to know everything—about my father, about Ferrara, and about Ezra."
Gabriel sighed, leaning back in his chair. He had known this moment would come, but that didn't make it any easier. "I told you some of it already. Your father… he got involved with Ferrara when he couldn't pay off his debts. Ferrara saw an opportunity and used your father's desperation to secure a deal. You were part of that deal."
Celia clenched her fists under the table, trying to steady her emotions. "But why? Why me?"
"Because you were the only thing of value your father had left," Gabriel said, his voice softening. "Ferrara saw you as a way to solidify his control over Ezra's operations. If Ezra hadn't stepped in and married you, Ferrara would have used you as leverage to destroy everything Ezra built."
Celia's heart sank. She had always known her father had made mistakes, but this… this was too much. She had been a pawn in a game she didn't even know existed.
"And Ezra?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did he marry me because he loved me? Or because he had no choice?"
Gabriel hesitated, his expression conflicted. "At first, it was about the deal. But things changed, Celia. Ezra fell for you. I've known him for years, and I've never seen him fight this hard for anything—or anyone."
Celia's mind swirled with conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to believe Gabriel, to believe that Ezra's feelings were real. But the shadow of doubt still loomed large.
Before she could respond, Gabriel's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. "We need to go. Ferrara's making his move, and if you stay here, you're not going to be safe."
Celia stood, fear gripping her chest. "What do we do?"
Gabriel's face was grim as he led her out of the café. "We prepare for war."
As they stepped into the night, Celia knew one thing for certain—her life would never be the same again.