The Truth

Lorenzo's POV

"So, what you think? We could make millions, if not billions. The acrid smell of stale whiskey and desperation clung to the air in the dimly lit bar. Around the table, the men—a collection of cunning eyes and false smiles—prattled on about cocaine shipments, about routes and percentages, their words were a monotonous drone against the backdrop of my thoughts. My mind, however, wasn't on their illicit trade. It was on Ava.

Her eyes were filled with fear and with shock, during our first encounter. A part of me, the twisted, darker part, reveled in her misery. She’s just a tool, I tried to convince myself she was a means to an end. Yet, despite my efforts, my thoughts kept straying to irrelevant things.

The softness of her lips. How fragile she looked. The absurd, burning need to seal her smart mouth with mine, to taste the defiance I saw in her eyes. It was a twisted obsession. I wasn't falling for her. Never. Love was a weakness I couldn't afford, not when my hatred for her and her family ran so deep. She was merely a pawn in a game far older than her naive existence.

“Lorenzo? You with us?” One of them, a man named Marco, snapped his fingers, pulling me back to the present. “Thinking about the new girl, are we?” A knowing smirk played on his lips.

I allowed a faint smirk to touch my own. This was not the place to let my personal life bleed into my public one. Weakness would be exploited, vulnerabilities seized upon. If they thought I cared for Ava, they would use her against me, twist her, break her. Good thing I didn't love her. Good thing I had intentionally taken her to that casino, let her be seen. I wanted them to go after her. I didn’t care if they hurt her, just as I hadn't cared when those men at my bar tried to rape her. My hatred for her and for what her family had done, burned too fiercely.

Still, I feigned a flicker of concern, a subtle tightening of my jaw. “My personal life is just that, personal.”

Marco chuckled, a grating sound. “Come on, Lorenzo. We thought you were a private man, but you’ve been proving us wrong lately. Starting with Kate.”

Kate. The mention of her name almost made me chuckle. Ava’s question from last night echoed in my mind: "Is she your ex?" I hadn't bothered to correct her, hadn't bothered to explain that Kate was never an ex, merely a plaything, a temporary distraction. But these fools wouldn't know the difference. Let them believe what they wanted.

They continued, mistaking my feigned concern for genuine worry. “We could always, you know, ‘keep her safe’ for you, Lorenzo,” another one, a greasy man named Viktor, offered, his eyes glinting with malice. “A little insurance, perhaps?”

That was it. The line was crossed. My hand moved before they could even finish the thought. The glint of steel, the deafening roar of the gun and then, silence. Their eyes, wide with surprise and fear, stared blankly at the ceiling. The smell of gunpowder mingled with the stale whiskey, a more satisfying aroma than any cheap perfume.

I stood, adjusting the cuffs of my suit, dusting an invisible speck from my shoulder. No remorse, no hesitation. Just annoyance. Killing them was a chore, an inconvenience.

“Martin.” I called, my voice calm as I walked out of the bar, stepping over the crumpled forms.

Martin, ever stoic, trailed silently behind me. “Sir,” he began, his voice flat, “we have a situation.”

My jaw tightened. Another one? “What is it?”

“Ava is involved in an accident, sir.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. An accident. Shock, sharp and unexpected, sliced through my practiced indifference. Confusion flared, warring with the cold control I usually maintained. An accident? How?

****

Ava's POV

A blinding white light assaulted my eyes, followed by a throbbing pain behind my temples. My head pounded, a relentless drumbeat against the inside of my skull. I tried to remember. The car. The sudden jerk. The screech of tires. The horrifying crunch of metal on metal. Then, pain. So much pain.

And then, another image, vivid and chilling superimposed over the present. The back seat of a car, and my parents’ screams, distorted by terror. The sickening lurch as the vehicle was pushed, propelled by an unseen force, off the road, tumbling down a steep embankment. The crushing impact. The silence that followed.

A sharp rap on a door startled me, snapping me back to the present. My vision slowly cleared, the stark white ceiling giving way to unfamiliar surroundings. A luxurious room, undoubtedly a bedroom but one I’d never seen before. Before I could fully process my disorientation, the door opened. Mario.

He stood there, impeccably dressed, a look of concern etched on his handsome face. “Ava, how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice smooth and solicitous.

I didn’t wait for him to come closer. I swung my legs off the bed, a jolt of pain shooting through my body but I ignored it. “What are you doing here?” My voice was raspy, laced with suspicion.

He remained calm, a slight smile playing on his lips. “You’re in my mansion, Ava.”

My confusion deepened. “How did I get here?”

“I saved you,” he replied simply as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I swallowed, a nervous lump in my throat. “Why?” The question felt flimsy and why inadequate.

His smile widened, a glint of something I couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes. “Because you are my betrothed, Ava. It is only right that I save my future wife.”

The words hit me like a blow. He knew. My grandfather’s revelation, barely a whisper of a memory from my hospital visit, had somehow reached him. I froze, not expecting him to be aware of the archaic agreement.

“I… I don’t need your protection,” I stammered, scrambling to gather my wits. “I should go.”

Mario laughed, a low, rich sound that grated on my nerves. “And where would you go? Do you honestly believe Lorenzo would come to your rescue?”

I had no reply. A cold certainty settled in my chest. No. Lorenzo wouldn’t. Not out of concern, anyway. He had made that abundantly clear.

Mario shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. “You don’t know the kind of man Lorenzo Blackwood truly is, Ava.” He took a step closer, his gaze intense. “Do you know why he keeps you trapped in that mansion of his?”

I remained silent, my mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. His eyes studied me, assessing before he continued, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. “He’s only using you, Ava. To exact revenge on your parents for their past mistakes.”

Revenge? On my parents? I shook my head, a fervent denial escaping my lips. It couldn’t be. But even as I denied it, a chilling question gnawed at me. Why did I resist believing such a cruel thing? I barely knew Lorenzo. And every interaction I’d had with him, every cold word, every possessive touch, painted him in the darkest of lights. Mario’s words, though unproven, resonated with a disturbing truth.

Mario didn’t elaborate, simply stating, “Your connection to Lorenzo is no coincidence. Everything has been orchestrated by him.” He paused, then added, his voice laced with a subtle emphasis, “Only I can truly save you from him.” He made himself sound like my only hope, a beacon in the storm.

Just then, a commotion erupted outside the room—shouts and a crash. Before I could react, the door burst open, slamming against the wall.

Lorenzo stood there, a formidable, enraged presence. His eyes, usually cold, burned with an unholy fire. Mario, however, remained remarkably calm as if he had been expecting this unceremonious entrance.

Lorenzo moved with terrifying speed, closing the distance between them in two long strides. He grabbed Mario by the collar, pulling him up, then unleashed a brutal barrage of punches. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, Mario’s head snapping back with every impact. Lorenzo didn’t stop until he was satisfied and until Mario sagged limply in his grasp. Then, he shoved him away and Mario crumpled to the floor.

Lorenzo turned to me, his gaze softening, shifting from fury to something resembling concern. He grabbed my hand, pulling me closer, his eyes scanning my face and my arms while searching for injuries. The sudden show of care, after Mario’s shocking revelation left me utterly torn. A wave of dizziness washed over me, the remnants of the accident making themselves known.

His jaw clenched when his gaze landed on the bandage on my head. He held my hand tightly, a silent reassurance and was about to lead me out of the room when Mario, his voice weak but clear, called out, “Think about what we discussed, Ava. We’ll meet again soon.”

Lorenzo froze. His grip on my hand tightened, his jaw clenching again. He narrowed his eyes at Mario, a dark and dangerous glint returning. He took a step as if to reach for Mario again but then I stumbled, the pain in my head intensifying and my legs threatening to give out.

He reacted instantly, sweeping me into his arms. I clung to him, my head resting against his shoulder, the familiar scent of leather and spice filling my senses. My mind, despite the pain and confusion, raced. Mario’s words echoed. Revenge for your parents’ past mistakes. Orchestrated by Lorenzo. Was it true? Was he truly using me as a pawn in some elaborate, cruel game?

As I looked up at his stern but expressionless face, the terrifying realization dawned on me. If Mario’s words were true, if Lorenzo was truly this calculated and this ruthless, then I was utterly doomed.

There would be no escape from a man like him. And the chilling thought struck me. I might end up like my parents... Dead.