Chapter 4: Into the Lion’s Den

“Sit,” Lorenzo ordered, his voice sharp and commanding, a stark contrast to the last time Elena had been here. The weight of his tone sent a shiver down her spine, but she kept her expression neutral as she quickly obeyed, lowering herself onto the chair across from him.

“You said you are Elena Russo,” Lorenzo’s voice was measured, but the deadly glint in his eyes made her stomach twist.

“Y-Yes, I am,” Elena stuttered, cursing herself for the slight slip. Her fingers tightened around the phone resting on her lap, her thumb hovering near the emergency dial. If things went south, she had to be ready.

Lorenzo’s stare was unnerving, piercing through her like he could rip her apart with just a look. Then Matteo spoke, his tone laced with cold amusement.

“Elena Russo died six months ago upon entry into Spain.”

Elena swallowed but quickly steadied herself. She couldn’t afford to hesitate. “Yes, my death was faked by Ricardo, like I told you. He made sure it looked real so his son wouldn’t come after me.”

Lorenzo leaned forward slightly, studying her with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey. “My sources tell me Elena ran away from Ricardo after she stole his money. He sent his men after her and had her killed.”

Elena exhaled slowly, forcing a calm smile to her lips.

“Did you get this information from Ricardo himself? Because last I checked, he died two months ago.” She let the words settle before continuing smoothly, “Everything he did, he made it look real so people would believe I was dead. He staged it—made it seem like I stole from him, that he hunted me down and killed me. It was all an act, meant to convince his son that I was gone for good.”

A tense silence filled the room. Lorenzo’s stare remained locked on her, unreadable, while Matteo’s smirk faded slightly as he observed the exchange.

Elena knew she had turned the game in her favor. Ricardo was dead. The only version of the truth that remained was the one she created.

And unless he could crawl out of his grave to expose her, Lorenzo had no choice but to decide whether to believe her or not.

Elena knew how to play a role. She had spent years perfecting the art of manipulation, of slipping into the skin of someone else to survive. But this—this was different.

Lorenzo DeLuca wasn’t a man easily fooled, and the intensity in his dark eyes made it clear he wasn’t just searching for lies. He was dissecting her, peeling back her layers one by one.

“Stand up,” Lorenzo commanded suddenly, his voice deep, edged with something dangerous.

Elena hesitated for half a second before rising from her seat.

“Come here.”

She stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the floor, closing the small distance between them.

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, exuding a lazy dominance, the kind that sent a shiver down her spine. He reached out, gripping her wrist, his thumb pressing against the frantic pulse there.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured.

“I’m in a room with two men who could kill me in a heartbeat. Nervous is an understatement,” Elena said, keeping her voice steady.

Lorenzo smirked, his grip tightening slightly. “A woman who faked her own death should be better at hiding fear.”

Elena lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated. “Fear is a luxury I can’t afford.”

Matteo chuckled from his seat. “I like this one. She’s got fire.”

Lorenzo ignored him. His fingers trailed up Elena’s wrist, brushing against the inside of her palm before letting go. The contact was brief, but it left behind a lingering heat. He stood slowly, towering over her, his presence suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

“If I find out you’re lying to me,” he said, his voice dropping to something almost intimate, “I won’t just kill you, Elena. I’ll make you wish you had stayed dead.”

Elena met his gaze, unflinching. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I told the truth.”

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at Lorenzo’s lips. He reached past her, grabbing the gun from the table. The cold metal brushed against her arm, making her breath hitch.

“Matteo, leave us,” Lorenzo said, his eyes still locked on Elena.

Matteo let out a low whistle. “Well, this just got interesting.” He stood, flashing Elena a cocky grin before strolling out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving Elena alone with Lorenzo.

Lorenzo’s gaze remained locked on Elena, his expression unreadable as he extended the gun toward her once more.

“Do you know how to use one?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with an underlying challenge.

Elena’s fingers twitched slightly, but she didn’t reach for the weapon. “No,” she admitted. “We weren’t allowed to have one.”

A slow smirk tugged at Lorenzo’s lips as he turned the gun in his hand, gripping the barrel before offering it to her. “Here, take it.”

She hesitated. He was testing her, pushing her to see how she would react.

Lorenzo arched his brow. “Are you scared to hold a gun? You and I are here alone, and there’s only one weapon. If you came here to kill me, now’s your chance.”

Elena’s heartbeat quickened, but she masked it well. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t want to?” Lorenzo tilted his head slightly, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Imagine it—the girl who killed Lorenzo DeLuca. You’d be famous. You could take the shot right now, and no one would stop you.”

Elena took a step back, the air in the room thick enough to suffocate her. He was tempting her, taunting her. But she wasn’t a fool. Lorenzo DeLuca couldn’t be taken down that easily.

She met his gaze steadily and, in a low, firm voice, said, “No estoy aquí para eso(I’m not here for that). If you don’t believe me, that’s your choice.”

Lorenzo stepped forward, closing the space between them, his presence overwhelming. His scent—masculine and dark—lingered between them. Elena subtly took him in, noting once again how devastatingly handsome he was.

For a long moment, he just stared at her, unreadable, unmoving. Then, with a slow nod, he finally spoke.

“Welcome to the DeLuca family.”

She was in.