The photograph of me sitting outside the courthouse stared back at me from the table.
It was grainy, but unmistakable. The shadows were long, the angle sharp, and my face was caught in a moment of quiet reflection. My gaze was focused somewhere in the distance, but the thought of what—or who—had been watching me made my stomach turn.
I looked up at Carlo, who was pacing the small space of my apartment like a man with a death sentence hanging over his head.
"They're still watching me," I said softly, my voice laced with disbelief.
He stopped mid-step, turning to face me. "Of course they are. You think the Calvinis are going to let this go? They've been playing both sides of this trial, and now Lorenzo walks free. Do you know what that makes you?"
I set the photograph down, my fingers tightening into fists. "A liability."
Carlo nodded. "Exactly."
The truth hit me like a cold wave. I'd been so focused on surviving the trial, on keeping Lorenzo from being buried by the Calvinis and the prosecution, that I hadn't stopped to think about what happened next.
I wasn't safe.
Carlo sat down heavily across from me, his expression grim. "You need to leave, Elena. Tonight."
I stared at him, the weight of his words settling over me. "Leave? And go where?"
"Anywhere," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Just get out of Milan. Get out of the country if you have to. The Calvinis don't forget, and they don't forgive. You've seen too much, and now you're in their crosshairs."
I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You think running will stop them? They'll find me no matter where I go."
"Maybe," Carlo admitted. "But staying here is a death sentence. They won't just send you a warning next time."
The room felt too small, the walls closing in on me as I considered his words.
"You don't get it," I said finally. "If I run, I lose everything. My career, my reputation—it's all gone."
Carlo leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You won't have a career if you're dead."
His words hung in the air like a noose tightening around my neck.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The photograph was still on the table, alongside the ones of Lorenzo and Stefano Marconi, Vittorio Calvini, and the blurry surveillance footage of Petrucci meeting with the prosecution.
Every piece of evidence told the same story: I was caught in the middle of a war, and I had no way out.
I poured myself another glass of wine, the bitter taste burning my throat. The city lights twinkled outside my window, deceptively peaceful.
I sat at the edge of my couch, staring at the glowing skyline, trying to make sense of my choices. Carlo's words replayed in my head on a loop. "Leave tonight." But where would I go? How could I disappear when the Calvinis' reach seemed infinite?
My phone buzzed on the table, startling me. I glanced at the screen, but it wasn't Carlo—it was a number I didn't recognize.
I ignored it, letting the call go to voicemail.
Moments later, it buzzed again. Same number.
My pulse quickened as I stared at the screen. Finally, I picked up, my voice sharp. "Who is this?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a low, familiar voice came through the line.
"You should lock your door, Elena."
The glass of wine slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. My eyes darted to the door, where the lock was still firmly in place.
"Who the hell is this?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
The line went dead.
I didn't realize I was trembling until I saw my hands. I grabbed my phone and dialed Carlo's number, my fingers fumbling over the buttons. He picked up on the second ring.
"Elena, what is it?" he asked.
"Someone just called me," I said, my voice shaking. "They told me to lock my door, Carlo. They're watching me."
Carlo swore under his breath. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't open the door for anyone."
The call ended, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence of my apartment. My eyes flicked to the windows, then to the door, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
Ten minutes felt like an eternity.
The knock at the door nearly made me jump out of my skin. I grabbed the nearest object—a heavy book—and crept toward the door.
"It's me," Carlo called.
I opened the door quickly, letting him inside. He took one look at my face and frowned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"They called me," I said, barely able to get the words out. "They told me to lock my door."
Carlo's jaw tightened. He glanced around the apartment, his eyes scanning the windows and corners for any sign of intrusion.
"They're playing with you," he said finally. "Trying to scare you into making a mistake."
"Well, it's working," I snapped, my frustration bubbling over. "What am I supposed to do, Carlo? Just sit here and wait for them to make their move?"
"No," he said firmly. "You need to take control of the situation."
"How?" I demanded.
Before Carlo could answer, there was another knock at the door.
We both froze.
"Elena," a voice called softly.
It was Lorenzo.
Carlo opened the door, his expression hardening as Lorenzo stepped inside.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Carlo demanded.
Lorenzo ignored him, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Are you okay?"
"No thanks to you," I said sharply. "Why are you here?"
Lorenzo glanced at Carlo, then back at me. "Because they won't stop, Elena. Not until they've destroyed you."
"And what do you care?" I shot back.
Lorenzo smiled faintly. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
Carlo took a step forward, his posture tense. "You're not helping."
"I didn't come here to help," Lorenzo said calmly. "I came to warn her."
He turned to me, his expression darkening. "You need to decide, Elena. Are you going to run? Or are you going to fight?"
The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air like a challenge.
That night, long after Lorenzo and Carlo left, I sat alone in the dark, staring at the shattered remains of my wine glass.
Lorenzo's words echoed in my mind. "Are you going to run? Or are you going to fight?"
The photograph of me sitting outside the courthouse was still on the table, a silent reminder of the war I was now a part of.
Somewhere out there, the Calvinis were waiting. Watching.
And for the first time, I realized I might have to watch back.