The wind over Milan carried whispers that night — the kind of whispers that traveled from alleyways to penthouses, from thieves to kings.
And in the underworld, whispers were deadlier than bullets.
Luciana Russo leaned back in her velvet chair, swirling a glass of red wine. Her smile was sharp, almost elegant. Across from her sat a man in a tailored suit, his presence commanding — dark eyes, scarred hands, and a cruel grin that spoke of violence long mastered.
"Marco Vitali," Luciana said smoothly, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "It's a pleasure."
He chuckled, resting his elbow on the table. "You called, I came. What does the lady of the Russo estate want from a man like me?"
L
Luciana's eyes gleamed. "Revenge."
Marco's smirk widened. "Against Lorenzo De Luca? That's a dangerous wish, Signora."
"Not revenge against him," she corrected. "Against the girl who tamed him."
She slid a photo across the table — Elena, caught in a moment of laughter under the golden lights of the De Luca courtyard. Her beauty was effortless, soft but strong, the kind that made men either fall to their knees or destroy her trying.
"Ah," Marco murmured. "So the rumors are true. The Devil fell for an angel."
Luciana's jaw tightened. "She's no angel. She's a weakness. And I intend to remind Lorenzo what happens when he lets one live."
Marco tapped the edge of the photo thoughtfully. "You want her taken?"
Luciana smiled. "I want her ruined."
At the De Luca mansion, the night was quiet almost too quiet.
Elena stood by the balcony, her silk robe brushing against her legs as the breeze played with her hair. She had spent the entire evening trying to ignore the tension building inside her. Ever since Clara arrived, the air had felt heavier. She could see it in the way Lorenzo moved — more guarded, more alert. Something was brewing.
She heard footsteps behind her and didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Couldn't sleep?" Lorenzo's voice came, low and rough.
She shook her head. "Too many thoughts."
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. "About your sister?"
"About everything," she admitted quietly. "My father. Luciana. The reason I was sold to you."
Lorenzo's eyes darkened. "You were sold because your family is poison. Because they care more for power than blood."
She turned to face him, her voice trembling. "And what about you? You buy lives too, don't you?"
His expression didn't change, but his silence was louder than any answer.
Elena sighed, looking away. "I used to think I hated you. Now… I don't even know."
Lorenzo reached out, fingers grazing her chin, tilting her face back to his. "You shouldn't try to understand me, Elena. It's safer if you don't."
"But I already do," she whispered. "That's the problem."
For a long moment, neither of them moved. His eyes searched hers — that dangerous calm breaking just a little. Then, suddenly, he stepped back.
"Get some rest," he said quietly, and left before she could reply.
She didn't see the conflict burning in his eyes as he closed her door behind him — the war between his heart and his world.
The next morning, chaos erupted.
Luca, one of Lorenzo's most trusted men, rushed into his office. "Boss — we've got a problem. A big one."
Lorenzo looked up sharply. "What kind of problem?"
Luca hesitated, then placed a tablet in front of him. The screen showed photos — of Elena.
Her face was everywhere. Headlines screamed lies across every tabloid and underground news feed.
"Mafia Queen or Traitor?"
"Elena Russo, the woman who betrayed the De Luca Family for a rival syndicate."
"Rumors say Lorenzo's lover was feeding information to the Vitali clan."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched. "Who leaked this?"
Luca's voice was grim. "Someone close. The timing… it's too precise."
Lorenzo didn't answer. He didn't need to.
He already knew who it was.
Elena was in the garden when Lorenzo found her. The look in his eyes froze her where she stood.
"What did you do?" he asked, his voice low — deadly calm.
Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
He stepped closer, grabbing her wrist, not hard enough to hurt — but enough to make her heart race. "Your face is all over the city. They're saying you sold me out. To Vitali."
Her lips parted in shock. "What? No—Lorenzo, I'd never—"
"Then how do they have access to private records?" His voice grew darker, sharper. "You think I wouldn't know if someone in my own house betrayed me?"
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry. "You think I'd do that after everything I've been through? After what your world cost me?"
He didn't answer. He just stared at her — that brutal war in his eyes between belief and doubt.
"Someone set me up," she whispered. "Please, you have to believe me."
Before he could speak, Clara appeared at the door, feigning shock. "Lorenzo, I just heard—oh my God, Elena, what have you done?"
Elena's head snapped toward her, realization dawning. "It was you."
Clara blinked, her false innocence fading fast. "You have no proof."
Elena turned back to Lorenzo, desperate. "She's lying. She's working for Luciana — I know it."
For a long, unbearable moment, Lorenzo said nothing. Then, quietly, he released her wrist.
"Leave," he said to Clara without even looking at her.
She froze. "W-what?"
"I said, leave." His voice was iron. "Before I decide to put a bullet in your skull for thinking you could play games under my roof."
Clara turned pale and fled, her heels clattering against the marble floor.
Elena's breath hitched. "You believe me?"
Lorenzo's gaze softened just slightly. "I don't believe in people," he said. "But I believe in what I see. And I've seen the way you look at me. You don't fake that kind of fear."
Something in her chest broke open — a strange mix of relief and emotion she couldn't name. "Then what do we do?"
He looked past her, toward the city lights burning through the mist. "We find who's pulling the strings. And when we do… I'll make sure Luciana Russo never breathes again."
That night, as thunder rolled across the horizon, Elena sat alone in her room, staring at her reflection.
The girl staring back wasn't the same one who was sold for a debt. She was stronger now — sharper, colder.
And yet, when she thought of Lorenzo, her heart still softened.
Downstairs, he was preparing for war. And she knew — this time, it wasn't just about business or power.
This time, it was personal.