Chapter 11 - Crossing The Line

“Why did you betray the DeLuca family?” Elena asked, her voice soft. “Did someone order you to do it?”

Diego scoffed, a crooked smile tugging at his bloodied lips.

“Who are you to interrogate me? Get Lorenzo in here. I’ll only talk to him.”

Elena sighed. Stubbornness—it was always the same with mafia men. They wore it like a crown.

“It would do you well to answer me now… while I’m still asking nicely,” she warned, her tone tightening.

Diego let out a bitter laugh.

“What are you going to do? Intimidate me with that sweet little voice? I see the fear in your eyes, niña. Go ahead—show me what you’ve got.”

Elena tilted her head and smiled coldly.

“You don’t know me, Diego. If only you did.”

Without another word, she uncapped the bottle and poured the contents on his leg.

Diego’s scream tore through the warehouse as the acid seared his flesh.

“¡Maldito seas! (Damn you!)” he howled.

“Will you talk now?” Elena asked, her voice firm. “Or would you like to see what else I can do?”

For a moment, all that could be heard was Diego’s ragged breathing.

“I didn’t order the attack,” he spat. “I know nothing about it. I was headed to a meeting outside the country when your men grabbed me. Without warning. Without a chance to explain myself.”

Elena studied him carefully. Her gut twisted. He sounded… sincere.

“So, you’re saying you were set up?”

“Obviously!” Diego groaned. “Someone wants to pit me and Lorenzo against each other.”

“Liar!” Matteo thundered from the shadows, striding forward. He shoved Elena aside and grabbed Diego by the collar.

“You attacked us because of the M14 deal, didn’t you? Do you think you can cheat Lorenzo out of his share and scare him off? Greedy bastard!”

Diego coughed, then barked, “Lorenzo and I already agreed on how to split the profits! You’re the one who came to me—”

“Shut up!” Matteo roared. “Who are you working with? Who paid you to betray us? I don’t want your pathetic excuses.”

“I didn’t betray Lorenzo!” Diego cried out. “Let me speak to him—just call him, and I’ll explain everything.”

“Lorenzo doesn’t have time for traitors,” Matteo snapped.

But Diego’s gaze sharpened, even through the pain.

“Does he even know you came to me? About the M14 deal? Did you tell him?”

Elena’s heart skipped. What is this M14 deal all about? —and Matteo’s sudden stiffness didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you accusing me of betraying my brother?” Matteo asked angrily before slamming a boot into Diego’s stomach.

Diego collapsed forward, groaning. Elena stared at them both, something wasn’t right.

Matteo wasn't allowing Diego to talk.

Matteo yanked Diego up by the collar, the man sagging in his grip. He looked like he had minutes left in him—frail, barely conscious, yet still clinging to defiance.

Elena stepped forward hesitantly.

“Maybe… maybe we should let him talk to Lorenzo,” she suggested.

“He has nothing to say to him,” Matteo snapped, not even sparing her a glance. He turned back to Diego, eyes blazing.

“Was it the Coastal Cartel? Did they pay you to betray us? How much did they offer?”

Diego coughed, blood speckling his chin.

“Are you deaf?” he croaked. “I didn’t betray Lorenzo. I didn’t order the attack on the Black Orchid. I don’t know anything about it—I’m being framed!”

Elena’s brow furrowed. She’d interrogated enough criminals to know when someone was bluffing—and when someone was desperate for the truth to be heard.

She looked at Matteo out of the corner of her eye. He was restless. Angry. Almost too angry.

“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” she whispered to him.

Her instincts screamed that something wasn’t right. Diego’s desperation didn’t feel rehearsed—it felt real. And Matteo… he kept cutting him off. Deflecting. Pressing the same accusations like he didn’t want the conversation to go any deeper.

Why had Matteo met with Diego in the first place?

And why was he so determined to shut him up?

“And you would know that because?” Matteo sneered, casting Elena a cold side glance.

“He just… he seemed…” Elena stammered, words fumbling as doubt tangled her thoughts.

“Shut up and bring the bottle closer to his mouth,” Matteo barked.

Elena hesitated, eyeing him warily. “What do you want to do?”

“Are you here to question me or follow orders?” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

She bit her tongue and stepped forward slowly, extending the bottle close to Diego’s mouth with stiff fingers.

Matteo turned back to Diego, gripping the man’s jaw, fingers digging into his bruised cheek. “Tell me who you’re working with, or I’ll tell her to empty this down your gut.”

Then he looked at Elena. “Open it.”

Diego’s breath grew faster, chest heaving, his limbs twitching against the ropes.

“I’ll count to three,” Matteo said darkly. “If you’re still lying, she pours it down your throat. You know what this will do to your insides?”

“I don’t know what else you want from me!” Diego cried. “I didn’t order the attack! You kill me, and you’ll be the one betraying the alliance. My family will come for you.”

His voice was steady—but beneath the surface, the panic was unmistakable.

Matteo’s fingers tightened around Diego’s jaw, forcing his mouth open as the man writhed in the chair, veins bulging with panic.

“One,” Matteo began, a twisted grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

Diego jerked against the ropes. “Please, wait—”

“Two.”

Sweat poured down Diego’s temples. His feet kicked violently at the floor. “You’re making a mistake! I swear I didn’t—”

Elena’s hand trembled as she held the bottle, her eyes locked on Diego’s terrified face.

Then—her hand jerked.

“Whether it was Diego’s writhing that jerked her hand, or Matteo’s movement as he shook him, or the tremor inside her, she couldn’t tell—but the bottle tipped.”

And the acid poured.

Diego let out a painful scream that tore through the warehouse like an animal being slaughtered. His back arched, his mouth gaped wider as the burning liquid slid down his throat and into his gut.

Smoke rose from his skin where drops had splashed—flesh blistering, turning raw, red, and black.

Elena stumbled back, eyes wide, horror seizing her breath as she watched him convulse violently in the chair. Blood trickled from his lips, his eyes rolling back into his skull.

“What the hell have you done?” Matteo yelled at her. His face contorted in rage. “I didn’t tell you to pour it!”

Elena stumbled back, her eyes wide, breath shallow. “I—I don’t… I didn’t mean to,” she gasped, staring at the empty bottle in her hand like it had betrayed her. “It slipped—my hand—”

Matteo’s glare bore into her, his voice low and dangerous. “You just burned a man from the inside out, Elena. That’s not something you undo.”

Diego’s body sagged in the chair—lifeless, steam still rising from his burned shirt. The stench of acid and charred flesh filled the room.

Elena’s stomach churned. She backed away, her breath catching as the weight of what had just happened hit her like a bullet to the chest.

She hadn’t meant to.

She wanted to speak, to explain, to defend herself—but the truth was heavier than any excuse.

She had crossed a line.

She had killed a Mafia Lord.