Chapter 13 - The Widow’s Threat

Lorenzo adjusted his tie, his face sliding into its usual stoic mask as he strode out to meet Maria Caruso—Diego’s widow.

“Finally, the traitor shows his face,” Maria spat the moment she saw him.

“Traitor?” Lorenzo scoffed. “Your husband was the traitor, and you know it.”

Maria’s eyes narrowed, fury flashing. “Do you have proof? Actual proof that Diego betrayed you? Show me. Right here, right now.”

“We were attacked by your men yesterday. Who gave the order? And why?”

“Our men didn’t attack you, Lorenzo,” Maria snapped. “You’ve been played. A trap was set—and you lunged into it like a fool. Now, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”

She stepped closer, her voice lowering but hardening. “You mistook a friend for an enemy… and welcomed a real enemy into your circle. Why didn’t you speak to Diego yourself? Why resort to this?”

She snapped her fingers.

Two of her men entered, dragging something behind them. When they dropped it at Lorenzo’s feet, Isabella gasped.

It was Diego’s decapitated body—charred, disfigured, barely recognizable.

“Look at what you did,” Maria hissed. “This man was your ally long before you even learned to tie that fancy tie. And you butchered him like an animal.”

She turned slowly, speaking with deadly calm. “You’ve acted like a child, so I’ll treat you like one. The line has been drawn, Lorenzo. This… this was your declaration of war.”

Maria’s gaze slid to Isabella, cold and deliberate. “And war has consequences. The Carusos don’t stab backs—we confront our enemies face to face. But for this insult, you’ll pay… starting with the things you cherish most.”

Without another word, she turned toward the door. Her men lifted Diego’s remains and followed her.

Just before exiting, Maria paused, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“I heard you sent a girl,” she said slowly. “One of your new recruits… to do the dirty work. I’ll find her, Lorenzo. Whoever she is. Wherever she’s hiding. And I promise… she’ll suffer a fate far worse than what she did to Diego.”

She left, the door shutting behind her with a finality that echoed like a gunshot.

Lorenzo stood frozen, his jaw clenched, hands buried in his pockets. His face remained stoic—but inside, the storm raged.

Had he truly fallen into a trap?

“We need to go after Elena. Right now,” Isabella said firmly, stepping toward the door.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Lorenzo replied.

“What? Why not?” she demanded, eyes blazing.

Lorenzo exhaled slowly, then gave a subtle hand gesture. Within seconds, his bodyguard, Luis, appeared at his side.

“Take my sister home,” Lorenzo said coldly. “Lock her in. Post guards at every entrance. Use chains, cuffs—whatever it takes to keep her restrained. Just make sure she’s fed.”

Isabella’s jaw dropped. “What the hell are you doing? You’re putting me under house arrest?”

Lorenzo didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Lorenzo!” she shouted after him.

Luis signaled a few men forward. They grabbed Isabella gently but firmly.

“Let go of me! I said let go!” she screamed, thrashing in their grip. “Don’t you dare touch me—”

She twisted, kicked, and fought but the bodyguards didn't let go of her.

“I hate you, Lorenzo!” she screamed as they dragged her out of the Black Orchid. “I swear to God, I’ll never forgive you for this!”

But Lorenzo never looked back.

***

Elena’s breath came in shallow gasps as she lay crammed inside the narrow ventilator shaft, her blood pooling beneath her. The bullet had torn through her side, and though the bleeding had slowed, her head spun from the pain and blood loss. Her body trembled, muscles aching, sweat soaking her shirt. Every breath burned.

She could still hear them—Diego’s men.

“Check every corner!” one of them barked. “She’s bleeding, she couldn’t have gone far.”

“She’s still here. The trail ends before the exit. She didn’t make it out.”

Another voice chimed in. “If we can’t find her, we burn the place down. She’ll come crawling out—or roast in there like a rat.”

Curses. Footsteps as the men head towards their trunk to get gasoline.

Elena gritted her teeth, forcing her hand to move. Her fingers were slick with blood as she fumbled for her phone in her pocket. Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her side, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, shaking, as she opened a message.

To: Captain Reynolds

I’m in trouble. I came for a mission with Matteo DeLuca at the Warehouse near Calle del Acero. I’ve been shot. Diego Caruso’s men are here and I don’t know where Matteo is. We were outnumbered. They’re planning to burn the place. I’m hiding in the ventilator. Please. Hurry.

She hit send.

That was her only chance. She didn’t know what had happened to Matteo—whether he’d made it out or if he’d abandoned her.

She didn’t know if the DeLucas would come looking for her, or if they’d already written her off as dead.

All she had left… was Captain Reynolds.

She heard the men’s footsteps as they returned. The smell of gasoline filled her nostrils as they began wetting the warehouse.

The smell caused her to feel nauseous as her eyes dimmed but she bit her lip to stay conscious. She prayed silently for Captain Reynolds to come and save her.

Then—gunshots

Shouting erupted outside.

“Has Captain Reynolds arrived?” Elena wondered, her thoughts sluggish as she fought to stay conscious.

Boots thundered across the warehouse floor. Gunshots echoed—louder, sharper, and closer this time.

Elena let her head fall back against the metal of the vent, a shaky breath slipping from her lips. She hadn’t heard any police sirens. Had they come silently to catch Diego’s men off guard? Or was it someone else entirely?

Darkness clawed at her edges. She had no idea what was happening outside—no clue if Captain Reynolds had received her message. And if Matteo had escaped, would the DeLucas even come for her?

The shots died down. Then came a long silence, so still, it buzzed in her ears—until a voice cut through the quiet.

“Elena!”

Her heart skipped. That voice—

“Lorenzo?” she breathed in disbelief. “Lorenzo was the one who came…”

With trembling fingers, she pushed open the vent and crawled out, every movement a scream through her wounded body. She was weak. Her legs buckled beneath her as she tried to stand. The world tilted—and then went black.

But before she hit the ground, his arms caught her.

“M****a! ¡Le han disparado! (Damn! She had been shot!)” Lorenzo cursed under his breath as he cradled her limp form.

“She’s losing too much blood,” he growled to one of his men. “Get the car. Now.”