Chapter 51 Letta/Juan

I didn’t even remember the drive home. One minute I was storming out of my parents’ house, the next I was fumbling with my keys, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped them. My chest felt tight, my head buzzing with everything they’d said, everything they’d chosen. Chosen over me.

I pushed the door open, ready to collapse on the couch and scream into a pillow. But I froze. Someone was sitting in my living room. In the dark. My breath caught in my throat. “Hello?”

A soft click, a lamp turned on beside him. The man from the gala. Except… not. His hair was different. His beard trimmed. His clothes sharper. But the eyes, those were the same. Cold. Focused. Like he saw straight through me. He smiled. “You’re home.”

My pulse hammered. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting,” he said calmly, like this was normal. “You seemed upset when you left your parents’ house.”

I let out a bitter laugh, tossing my purse onto the couch. “Upset? Try humiliated.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched me unravel. And I did. I paced the room, words spilling out faster than I could control them. “They all sat there acting like everything was perfect. Like Roc bringing him home was something to celebrate. My parents... my own parents, smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong.” My voice cracked, but I kept going. “And Salvatore? He’s letting it happen. He’s letting Roc embarrass the family. He’s supposed to be the head one day. The Don won’t accept this. None of them will. But everyone’s pretending it’s fine because Sara has him wrapped around her little finger.”

I stopped pacing, breathing hard. Juan leaned forward slightly, interest sharpening. “You think Sara is influencing him?”

“Of course she is,” I snapped. “Ever since she came back, everything changed. Salvatore listens to her. He defends her. He defends them. She’s ruining everything.”

He nodded slowly, like he’d been waiting for me to say it. “You’re not wrong,” he murmured. “As long as Sara is in the picture, Salvatore will never see clearly. And as long as her son is around, the family will always be divided.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Her son?” I whispered.

“Gabe,” he said. “He ties Salvatore to her. Gives her leverage. Influence. As long as they’re here, the Ricci name will fall with them.”

My stomach twisted. I didn’t fully understand what he meant. But I understood the feeling behind it. The anger. The betrayal. The fear of being replaced.

He stood slowly, stepping into the light. His presence filled the room, steady and controlled.

“You want your family back,” he said. “I can help you. But you have to be willing to see the truth.”

My voice trembled. “What truth?”

“That Sara is the problem,” he said softly. “And as long as she’s here, everything you care about will keep slipping away.”

My breath hitched. Someone finally understood. Someone finally saw what I saw. Someone finally said out loud what everyone else was too blind to admit. I nodded slowly, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Tell me what to do.” Juan smiled, calm, patient, certain. And the room suddenly felt colder.

**Juan

Letta was exactly where I needed her. Angry. Unstable. Desperate to feel important again. People like her were easy. Too easy.

She stood in front of me, breathing hard, eyes wild with the kind of emotion that made people reckless. The kind that made them useful. I let her pace. Let her rant. Let her spill every insecurity she’d been choking on for years. And when she finally stopped, trembling with the weight of her own spiraling thoughts, I stepped closer.

“Good,” I murmured. “Let it out. You’ve been silenced long enough.”

Her chin lifted, eyes searching mine for validation. She didn’t want truth. She wanted someone to tell her she was right. And I could do that better than anyone. “I’m working on a plan,” I said softly. “A way to fix everything. But you can’t tell anyone I’m helping you. Not your parents. Not Roc. Not Salvatore. No one.”

She nodded quickly, too quickly. “I won’t. I swear.” Of course she wouldn’t. She needed me now.

“And while we wait,” I continued, letting my voice drop just enough to make her lean in, “we can help each other.” Her breath hitched. She was young. Lonely.

She swallowed. “Help… each other how?”

I didn’t touch her. I didn’t have to. I simply let my gaze linger. slow, deliberate, and watched the realization bloom across her face.

She wanted to feel wanted. Seen. Chosen. And I could use that. “Letta,” I said quietly, “you deserve attention. Real attention. Not the scraps they give you.”

Her cheeks flushed, anger melting into something softer, needier. She stepped closer. “You… you think so?”

“I know so.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and charged. Then she reached out, fingers brushing my sleeve, hesitant but hopeful. “Do you…” Her voice trembled. “Do you want to stay? Tonight?”

I let a slow smile curve my lips. “Lead the way.”

Her breath shuddered out, relief and desire tangled together, and she turned toward the hallway, toward her bedroom. glancing back only once to make sure I was following. I was. Not because I wanted her. But because she was the key. And I always take care of my tools.