Masuk~ELENA~I am in my room now after Vincenzo, Riccardo, and Nico finally calm me down.They don’t leave immediately.Vincenzo stands by the window, arms crossed, staring into the darkness outside like he’s expecting the night itself to move wrong. Riccardo paces the room slowly, his boots quiet against the floor, his jaw tight. Nico sits on the edge of the armchair opposite my bed, elbows on his knees, watching me like I might disappear if he blinks.No one speaks for a while.The silence feels…wrong. Heavy. Pressing.“You should sleep,” Nico finally says, his voice gentler than usual. “Tomorrow will be worse if you don’t. Because you'll be more frustrated and angrier.”I nod, even though sleep feels impossible.Riccardo stops pacing. “Lock your door,” he tells me. “If anything happens, anything at all, you scream. Don’t open it for anyone unless it’s us.”“Riccardo,” I say softly, my chest tightening. “You’re scaring me.”His gaze flicks to mine, dark and unr
~ELENA~I don’t think. I don’t breathe properly. I just move.My feet carry me down the hallway like they already know where I’m going. My blood roars in my ears, louder than my footsteps, louder than the memories clawing their way out of my chest. Every wall I pass feels too close, too suffocating, like this house itself is trying to stop me.Lorenzo Romano.My mother’s killer.He's currently at the pool.How can he be at peace and in the pool after he killed my mom? The same pool where he killed his daughter??That monster! That ruthless man! That murderer!I grip the diary harder as I storm toward the stairs, rage blinding me. I don’t care that it’s late. I don’t care who sees me. I don’t care what happens next. I need to look him in the eye. I need to hear him speak. I need him to know that I know.“Elena.”The voice stops me mid-step.I spin around sharply, fury blazing through my tears.Vincenzo stands at the end of the corridor, his broad shoulders blocki
~ELENAI wipe my tears and continue reading my mom's diary.The next pages are lighter. The handwriting loosens, becomes softer, almost hopeful.I take a deep breath before reading.I went out tonight.For the first time in years, I went out not to escape my life, but to feel alive.The club was loud. Too loud. The music throbbed through my bones. I drank more than I should have. I wanted the noise to drown my thoughts. I wanted to forget Victor. Forget the bruises. Forget the emptiness waiting for me at home.My heart pounds and my chest tightens painfully.A group of men noticed me.They laughed too loudly. Stood too close. One of them grabbed my wrist and said things that made my skin crawl. I told them to leave me alone. They didn’t listen.I was drunk. Weak. Scared. Then he appeared.My fingers dig into the pages.His name is Lorenzo Romano.He stepped between us like a wall. Tall. Calm. Deadly quiet. His voice was low but firm when he told them to leave.
~ELENA~I turn the frame over and my heart stops.A folded piece of paper is taped to the back.My hands shake as I peel it off and unfold it.Her handwriting greets me. Elegant. Slightly slanted. Alive.Elena, my sweet daughter,If you ever happen to come across this note, I must be dead by then.A sob rips out of my chest.My knees buckle, and I sink onto the edge of the bed, clutching the letter as my tears blur the words.I am sorry for not showing you enough motherly love. I didn’t mean to—but I didn’t know how to show enough love when I couldn’t even love myself properly or understand what it truly meant.My vision floods.“I understand,” I cry. “I do.”But just know that I love you so much. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’m sorry for making you go through a lot. I am sorry for not choosing the right father for you. I am sorry for making your childhood miserable and sending you far away. I am also sorry for forcing you to come back her
~ELENA~The morgue is colder than death itselfNot just the temperature—but the kind of cold that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones.The moment I step inside, my knees threaten to give out. White walls. White floors. White sheets. Everything feels wrong. Too clean for death. Too quiet for grief. Everything smells like chemicals and loss. My heart starts pounding wildly as the attendant pulls back the sheet.And there she is.My mother.She looks smaller than I remember. Paler. So still it feels wrong….unnatural. My breath leaves in a broken gasp.“Mom…” My voice comes out as a broken whisper.I step closer slowly, like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I move too fast.Then I see the bruises.Dark marks bloom along her arms. Faint discoloration at her neck. Her face is peaceful, but her body tells a different story.My chest caves in.“No…” I choke.I reach out with trembling fingers and touch her hand.Cold. Too cold.A sob rips out of me before I
~SEVEN DAYS AGO~The night bleeds silence.The phone rings while Lorenzo sits in his study, half a glass of scotch untouched before him. The lamp burns low, painting gold on the papers scattered across his desk. He doesn’t even flinch when the phone vibrates….only glances at the name flashing on the screen.Matteo…One of his boys.He lifts the phone to his ear, voice calm and measured. “Yes.”A pause follows….. too long, too heavy.“Boss…” Matteo’s voice cracks. “It’s… it’s Donna Isabella.”Lorenzo straightens slowly. “What about her?”“There was an ambush on the highway. Two black SUVs, unmarked. We fought back, but….” Matteo swallows. “Her car got hit by a trailer and it got crushed.”The world stills.Lorenzo doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. He just stares into the dim light, expression unreadable.Matteo continues, voice trembling. “It looks like a hit from the Bianchi men. I’m sorry, Boss. We….”The line goes dead.Lorenzo lowers the phone, his reflection trembling in the glass







