The night after I called Lorenzo, I barely slept.
Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside my window sent my pulse racing. I'd double-checked the locks on my door twice, even wedging a chair under the handle like some kind of amateur barricade. None of it made me feel safer.
The Calvinis had always been a looming presence, but now they felt like shadows pressing against the walls. Every second I wasn't thinking about them was a second wasted—one step closer to the inevitable retaliation Lorenzo had warned me about.
But it wasn't just the Calvinis that kept me awake. It was Lorenzo himself.
"They're already moving against you."
He hadn't said it like a warning. He'd said it like a fact—calm and inescapable. And yet, I'd called him.
I told myself it was out of necessity. Survival. But deep down, I knew the truth: Lorenzo wasn't just part of my problem anymore. He was becoming part of my solution.
At dawn, I gave up on trying to sleep and made a pot of coffee.
The evidence I'd spread across the table the night before was still there: photographs, transcripts, scraps of information I hadn't dared to act on yet. Each piece felt like a loaded gun pointed at the Calvinis—but none of them felt powerful enough to pull the trigger.
I was sitting at the table, absently stirring my coffee, when my phone buzzed with a text.
Lorenzo: "Be ready at noon. I'll send a car."
No explanation. No reassurance. Just instructions.
I stared at the message for a long moment, my stomach twisting with unease.
The car arrived exactly at noon—a sleek black sedan that idled at the curb outside my apartment like a phantom.
The driver, a tall man with a clean-shaven face and dark sunglasses, stepped out and opened the door for me without a word. His movements were sharp and professional, giving me the unsettling impression that he was more than just a chauffeur.
"Where are we going?" I asked, sliding into the backseat.
The driver didn't answer. He shut the door behind me, climbed into the front seat, and started the car.
The windows were tinted so dark that the world outside was reduced to vague shapes and shadows. I couldn't see where we were going, and the silence in the car felt suffocating.
I gripped my bag tightly in my lap, my mind racing. This was Lorenzo's world—controlled, secretive, and entirely on his terms.
The drive lasted nearly half an hour. By the time we pulled into an underground parking garage, my nerves were frayed.
The driver gestured for me to get out and led me toward a private elevator at the far end of the garage. He punched in a code, and the doors slid open with a quiet hiss.
"Is someone going to tell me where I am?" I asked, glancing between him and the elevator.
The driver didn't respond. He simply stepped aside, leaving me to face the elevator alone.
I hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The doors slid shut, and the elevator ascended smoothly, the soft hum of the machinery only amplifying the tension in my chest.
When the doors opened, Lorenzo was waiting.
He stood near a wall of glass that offered a sweeping view of the city skyline. The light streaming in from the windows cast him in sharp relief, his tailored suit immaculate, his posture relaxed.
But his eyes—those dark, calculating eyes—were sharp, watching me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
"Elena," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Right on time."
I stepped out of the elevator, keeping my distance. "You're the one who set the time."
His lips curved into a faint smirk. "And yet, I'm still impressed."
The room itself was minimalist, almost unnervingly so. The black leather furniture and sleek metal accents gave it a cold, impersonal feel. A single desk sat at the center of the space, completely bare.
"What is this place?" I asked, glancing around.
"It's neutral ground," Lorenzo said, turning back to the window. "Somewhere the Calvinis wouldn't dare to touch."
"Why not?"
"Because they'd have to admit they know about it," he said, his smirk widening. "And there are some secrets even the Calvinis can't afford to expose."
I crossed my arms, refusing to let him see how unsettled I was. "You could've just said we're in one of your safe houses."
He chuckled softly. "Where's the fun in that?"
I stayed near the elevator, keeping as much space between us as possible. "What do you want, Lorenzo?"
"First, to congratulate you," he said. "Your little stunt with the photograph was… bold."
"It wasn't a stunt," I snapped. "It was the truth."
"Of course," he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "But the truth has consequences."
"And you're here to help me deal with those consequences?"
"I'm here to make sure you survive them," Lorenzo said, his voice hardening. "The Calvinis don't take embarrassment lightly. They're already moving against you."
Before I could respond, the elevator dinged behind me.
I turned to see Carlo stepping out, his expression a mix of frustration and concern.
"You brought him into this?" I asked Lorenzo, glaring at him.
"He insisted," Lorenzo said, his tone casual.
Carlo shot me a sharp look. "You shouldn't even be here, Elena."
"Nice to see you too," I said, crossing my arms.
"You don't get it," Carlo said, his voice low but urgent. "The Calvinis aren't just angry. They're desperate. You've backed them into a corner, and they'll do anything to get out of it."
The three of us sat around the desk, the tension between us thick enough to choke on.
Lorenzo laid out his plan in detail, his voice calm and measured. He had contacts—people embedded within the Calvinis' network, feeding him information. He wanted to use them to dismantle the family's operations piece by piece, exposing their vulnerabilities and turning their allies against them.
It was bold. Risky.
And it could get all of us killed.
"This is insane," Carlo said, shaking his head. "If they even suspect what you're doing—"
"They won't," Lorenzo said, cutting him off. "Not if we're careful."
"And what about Elena?" Carlo asked, his gaze hard. "She's already their target. If she makes one wrong move—"
"She won't," Lorenzo said, his eyes flicking to me. "She's smarter than that."
I swallowed hard, the weight of their words pressing down on me.
"This isn't a plan," I said finally. "It's a suicide mission."
"Not if we do it right," Lorenzo said, his voice steady.
"And what happens if we don't?"
"Then we die," Lorenzo said simply.
The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air like a noose.
That night, as I sat alone in my apartment, Lorenzo's voice echoed in my mind.
"The Calvinis are already moving against you. The longer you wait, the closer they get."
The evidence on the table felt heavier than ever, each piece a weapon waiting to be used. But using them meant stepping further into Lorenzo's world—a world I wasn't sure I could survive.
My phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a single message from Lorenzo.
"The clock is ticking, Elena."
I stared at the words, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The game had begun, and I was running out of time.