Amara’s POV"Tell me," I said.His silence terrified me more than any gun ever pointed at my head.Matteo stood in front of me, drenched from the rain, shoulders slumped like he’d just buried someone. There was something haunted in his eyes—something I hadn’t seen before. Not even when he thought I died.He opened his mouth. Closed it. And when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what I expected."He knows you’re alive."The breath left my lungs. I stepped back, the walls of the safehouse suddenly too close, too tight."Rafael?"He nodded once. "He showed me a picture. Said he’s known for a while. He’s just been waiting.""Waiting for what?"Matteo didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands, like they were covered in blood."He gave me a choice."His voice cracked. My heart did too."What kind of choice?"He looked at me then. Really looked. And I knew. I knew before he said it. I felt it like a scream in my bones."He wants me to kill you," Matteo said. "Seven days. Or he’ll kill
Amara's POVThe night was too quiet, too calm, like the eye of the storm had passed over and now we were just waiting for it to rip everything apart. But there was no escaping. Not anymore.I stood in the dimly lit room, my fingers shaking as I stared at the blade in my hand. Lazaro’s voice echoed in my mind, his offer still ringing in my ears. I had no choice. None."Everything Rafael stole from me, I’ll give it to you," I had promised him, my voice steady despite the chaos in my heart. "In exchange for Matteo’s freedom."Lazaro had agreed, his eyes gleaming with that sick satisfaction that made my skin crawl. But there was a price. Always a price."A blood pact," he had said, his voice low, deliberate. "Sealed with loyalty."I had tried to push back, to make some kind of excuse, but Lazaro wasn’t a man who dealt in excuses. He was a man of demands, of terms I couldn’t refuse. And as much as it repulsed me, I knew I had to play
Amara’s POVI didn’t sleep that night.The cut on my palm had dried into a thin, ugly line, but the ache didn’t stop there. It spread through my chest like rot, thick and impossible to escape from. Matteo’s face wouldn’t leave my head—the way his eyes hardened, how his voice cracked when he said goodbye.It played on repeat. Every blink, every breath, it was there.“You don’t understand.”“Don’t.”“I trusted you.”“I’m done with you.”I could still hear it.I sat alone on the cold floor of the safehouse, the silence so loud it nearly screamed. Outside the window, dawn hadn’t even tried to break yet. Just black sky and heavier shadows.He didn’t even let me explain.But maybe he didn’t need to.I had cut myself open for Matteo—literally—and he still walked away like none of it mattered. Maybe to him, it didn’t.I wanted to scream.I wanted to smash something.But more than anythin
The blood wouldn’t stop.It soaked through my fingers, warm and terrifying, as I pressed harder against Matteo’s chest. I couldn’t even tell where the bullet had entered anymore—only that the bleeding wouldn’t slow, and his breathing was getting shallower.“Faster!” I screamed over my shoulder, my voice cracking. “We’re losing him!”Emil didn’t reply. He just drove harder, weaving through the barely lit roads like every second could kill us.The safehouse wasn’t far now. A medical one—hidden deep in the hills, off-grid, fully equipped and used only for the most desperate moments.And this was desperate.I stared down at Matteo’s face. His lashes twitched against his pale skin, sweat dotting his forehead. His lips were tinted red.“Stay with me, please.”My voice was smaller now. I didn’t care about pride or anger or what happened yesterday. Not when his life was slipping through my hands.The van jolted
The second envelope came at dawn. No knock. No footsteps. Just a soft thud, like a breath exhaled through paper, as it landed on the floor of Matteo's room. I didn’t notice it at first. I was dozing off, curled up in the chair, my fingers still loosely holding Matteo's hand. But the sound pulled me out of the fog. There it was. Another letter. Same yellowing parchment. Same shaky ink. But this time, it was addressed to Matteo. I didn’t touch it. Not right away. Something about it felt wrong. Like it breathed. Like it watched. I stared at it as the sun cracked through the slats in the window, slicing light across the tile floor. My heart hammered in slow, heavy thuds. I didn’t know if I was more afraid of what was inside it or the fact that it had gotten in at all. No one had come through that door. No one. And still, it sat there. I finally reached f
(Ten years ago) There are things a child shouldn’t remember. Like the smell of burning flesh. The sound of bones cracking beneath a boot. Or the way her mother’s hand shook when she whispered, “Don’t make a sound, baby. Not even a breath.” I was nine when I saw my father die. Not the man who raised me. The man whose blood runs in my veins. The man who built empires out of bullets and betrayal. I didn’t know it then. Only that Mama always said he was “gone” in that vague way grownups say when they mean something deeper. That day, I learned what “gone” really meant. It was supposed to be a quick trip. We were supposed to be in and out of Manila in a day. Mama needed to meet someone. “Business,” she said. I was wearing my favorite sneakers. Bright red, scuffed at the toes from schoolyard games. I remember because I kept staring at them when the screaming started. Like if I focused hard enough, I wouldn’t hear the gunfire. But it didn’t work. You never forget the sound of your
(MATTEO’S POV) They say a man should feel something on his wedding day. Joy. Hope. Nerves. Even guilt. I felt nothing. Not when I slid the cufflinks into place, black on black. Not when the housekeeper knocked on the door and told me the guests had arrived. Not even when I caught my reflection in the mirror. Sharp suit, sharper stare, and the ghosts behind my eyes who never stopped watching. I was a soldier marrying a stranger. A son honoring his family’s demand. A man with blood on his hands and no space in his chest for anything that didn’t taste like control. No, I wasn’t nervous. I was bored. “This is a mistake,” my cousin murmured beside me, low enough that only I could hear. “You don’t need her. You have the army. The routes. The respect.” I adjusted my tie. “I also have enemies. And her last name.” “Cruz,” he spat like it burned. “Your father would’ve—” “My father’s dead.” Silence cut between us. He didn’t say it, but I knew what he was thinking. That
(AMARA'S POV)The morning after my forced wedding, the sunlight felt fake. Like it was shining on the wrong people, on the wrong story. I opened my eyes to silence and unfamiliar air. Cold. Sterile. Not a single picture on the wall. Not even a crack in the marble floor. It was too perfect. Too polished. Like the kind of house that didn't want to be lived in.Just stared at.Just controlled.I sat up slowly, my head heavy from pretending. Pretending I wasn’t terrified. Pretending that the vows didn’t feel like chains around my throat. Pretending that Matteo Valerio hadn’t looked at me like he’d seen a ghost he wanted to bury twice.I checked the door.Locked.Of course.A maid knocked fifteen minutes later. Said nothing, just handed me a change of clothes and a tray of food like I was an exhibit behind glass. I almost asked her name. Almost.But then I remembered where I was.I was not here to make friends.I showered. Changed. Didn’t touch the food. I didn’t trust anything in this hou
The second envelope came at dawn. No knock. No footsteps. Just a soft thud, like a breath exhaled through paper, as it landed on the floor of Matteo's room. I didn’t notice it at first. I was dozing off, curled up in the chair, my fingers still loosely holding Matteo's hand. But the sound pulled me out of the fog. There it was. Another letter. Same yellowing parchment. Same shaky ink. But this time, it was addressed to Matteo. I didn’t touch it. Not right away. Something about it felt wrong. Like it breathed. Like it watched. I stared at it as the sun cracked through the slats in the window, slicing light across the tile floor. My heart hammered in slow, heavy thuds. I didn’t know if I was more afraid of what was inside it or the fact that it had gotten in at all. No one had come through that door. No one. And still, it sat there. I finally reached f
The blood wouldn’t stop.It soaked through my fingers, warm and terrifying, as I pressed harder against Matteo’s chest. I couldn’t even tell where the bullet had entered anymore—only that the bleeding wouldn’t slow, and his breathing was getting shallower.“Faster!” I screamed over my shoulder, my voice cracking. “We’re losing him!”Emil didn’t reply. He just drove harder, weaving through the barely lit roads like every second could kill us.The safehouse wasn’t far now. A medical one—hidden deep in the hills, off-grid, fully equipped and used only for the most desperate moments.And this was desperate.I stared down at Matteo’s face. His lashes twitched against his pale skin, sweat dotting his forehead. His lips were tinted red.“Stay with me, please.”My voice was smaller now. I didn’t care about pride or anger or what happened yesterday. Not when his life was slipping through my hands.The van jolted
Amara’s POVI didn’t sleep that night.The cut on my palm had dried into a thin, ugly line, but the ache didn’t stop there. It spread through my chest like rot, thick and impossible to escape from. Matteo’s face wouldn’t leave my head—the way his eyes hardened, how his voice cracked when he said goodbye.It played on repeat. Every blink, every breath, it was there.“You don’t understand.”“Don’t.”“I trusted you.”“I’m done with you.”I could still hear it.I sat alone on the cold floor of the safehouse, the silence so loud it nearly screamed. Outside the window, dawn hadn’t even tried to break yet. Just black sky and heavier shadows.He didn’t even let me explain.But maybe he didn’t need to.I had cut myself open for Matteo—literally—and he still walked away like none of it mattered. Maybe to him, it didn’t.I wanted to scream.I wanted to smash something.But more than anythin
Amara's POVThe night was too quiet, too calm, like the eye of the storm had passed over and now we were just waiting for it to rip everything apart. But there was no escaping. Not anymore.I stood in the dimly lit room, my fingers shaking as I stared at the blade in my hand. Lazaro’s voice echoed in my mind, his offer still ringing in my ears. I had no choice. None."Everything Rafael stole from me, I’ll give it to you," I had promised him, my voice steady despite the chaos in my heart. "In exchange for Matteo’s freedom."Lazaro had agreed, his eyes gleaming with that sick satisfaction that made my skin crawl. But there was a price. Always a price."A blood pact," he had said, his voice low, deliberate. "Sealed with loyalty."I had tried to push back, to make some kind of excuse, but Lazaro wasn’t a man who dealt in excuses. He was a man of demands, of terms I couldn’t refuse. And as much as it repulsed me, I knew I had to play
Amara’s POV"Tell me," I said.His silence terrified me more than any gun ever pointed at my head.Matteo stood in front of me, drenched from the rain, shoulders slumped like he’d just buried someone. There was something haunted in his eyes—something I hadn’t seen before. Not even when he thought I died.He opened his mouth. Closed it. And when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what I expected."He knows you’re alive."The breath left my lungs. I stepped back, the walls of the safehouse suddenly too close, too tight."Rafael?"He nodded once. "He showed me a picture. Said he’s known for a while. He’s just been waiting.""Waiting for what?"Matteo didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands, like they were covered in blood."He gave me a choice."His voice cracked. My heart did too."What kind of choice?"He looked at me then. Really looked. And I knew. I knew before he said it. I felt it like a scream in my bones."He wants me to kill you," Matteo said. "Seven days. Or he’ll kill
Matteo’s POVThe rain had started again. Not the kind that invited umbrellas or window-side poems—this was the cold, punishing kind, the kind that made everything feel heavier than it already was.I sat in the backseat of the black Escalade, silent as the engine idled near the dockyard. Nico was in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, eyes watching the storm.He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. We both knew what tonight was. Not a truce. Not a conversation.A reckoning.“You sure about this?” Nico finally asked, voice low.“No,” I said, and meant it.He gave me a look in the rearview mirror, then turned off the engine.We walked the rest of the way.The abandoned warehouse stood like a beast’s carcass—stripped, skeletal, looming. Inside, only one overhead bulb flickered above a steel table, two chairs waiting like vultures.He was already there. Rafael Aragon. Wearing black gloves, sipping from a paper cup like he wasn’t the one who had just pulled strings that nearly end
The air inside the bunker tasted stale, heavy like it was soaked with grief I was still trying to swallow. I pulled the sleeves of my jacket over my hands, staring blankly at the cracked floor. There was a war outside, a silent one, moving like a shadow across the city.And Matteo Vergara was playing the part of the broken man.I saw glimpses of it on the small TV in the corner. His black suit. His bloodshot eyes. His voice shaking as he gave statements to the media. The world mourned for him, the heartbroken fiancé who had lost everything in one cruel twist of fate.Except none of it was real.I was still here. Hiding. Breathing. Burning from the inside out."You ready?" a deep voice asked from the doorway.I turned my head and saw Nico leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on his lips. He was one of Matteo’s trusted men, someone who had been with him long before all this chaos started."As ready as I'll ever be," I said, pushing myself to my feet.The past f
The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the ceiling fan above us, its rhythmic whirr doing little to calm the tension in the air. My heart was racing, a storm of confusion swirling in my chest as Matteo stood before me, his usual confident demeanor replaced with a rare vulnerability. I couldn’t help but notice how his hand twitched at his side, a gesture that betrayed the calm he was trying to project. The weight of the conversation hanging between us was too heavy. It had been too heavy since the moment he told me about the blood contract. “Amara…” Matteo started, his voice low, measured. “You need to understand something. This blood contract—it was forged, against my will. Rafael forced me to sign it. Tortured me until I didn’t have a choice.” I blinked, struggling to process his words. “Tortured you? But you’re the one who…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say. The lies, the manipulation, everything I had known about him felt like a cruel joke. “I had no choice,” he co
The air was thick with tension. Every step I took felt like it echoed in the silent room, my shoes clicking sharply against the polished floors. The walls were adorned with dark, intricate paintings—power, money, blood—they seemed to mock me. I wasn’t just in Lazaro Reyes’ territory now. I was standing on the precipice of a world I had only heard about in whispers, a world where people like me didn’t belong. Lazaro stood at the other end of the room, his back to me, looking out over the city. The view was stunning—everything below looked like it was mine for the taking. I swallowed the lump in my throat, wondering just how deep this game went. “You've come a long way, Amara,” Lazaro said, his voice smooth and measured. “And now, you're in a position to make choices. The choices you never had.” I took a step forward, resisting the urge to turn and walk right back out. This wasn’t some simple meeting. This was an offer. A dangerous, seductive offer. “I don’t need your pity,” I said,