Chapter 20
Katarina
Two Days Later
The morning light fills the garden with an unforgiving brightness. I sit on a weathered stone bench, facing the massive fountain with an angel statue at its center. The sound of water cascading over stone tries—and fails—to drown out my racing thoughts.
I run my fingers through my newly dyed hair, the red wine waves catching the sunlight, glowing like fire. For the first time since Mateo died, I no longer feel like a victim. The fear that used to sit in the back of my throat has turned into anger. Dark, seething anger.
I am done running.
I am done crying.
It’s time someone paid for what happened to Mateo.
Fueled by hate and the intimacy I’ve shared with Damiano over the past days, I’m determined to seek the justice my brother deserves.
The last two days have felt like a fever dream. The outside world ceases to exist, as we lose ourselves in each other. We barely left the bedroom, our bodies seeking a desperate kind of comfort that we can only find in each other. I crave his touch, like a meth addict craves the next hit.
But even in the heat of it, a part of my mind stays intentionally watching, waiting for the right opening. I play the part of the grieving, fragile sister who needs the truth to feel safe, and in that post-coital haze, his guard eventually drops.
It’s how I learned that Nicolo is in Sicily now, lying low.
It’s how I found out he was in Argentina the night of that attack.
Damiano is convinced he was the one who paid Alfonso to carry out the hit.
More than that, I was listed on the shipment manifest as "riggina nica", Sicilian for “little queen.”
Damiano is hunting for the trail of that payment. Apparently, even the Mafia has a code of conduct. If Damiano can prove Nicolo conducted unsanctioned business in Argentina, the organization will withdraw its protection. Then, Nicolo is ours.
A sharp crunch on the gravel breaks my thoughts. I look up to see Julian approaching me. He looks like he’s been through a war. His buzzed hair is a mess of sharp angles, and his deep-set eyes are ringed with dark circles, bloodshot from what seems like a lack of sleep.
He is still in a black suit like the rest of the guards, though his tie is missing and his collar is open, revealing his tattooed neck. He has a deep, persistent frown on his face until his eyes land on mine.
“Hola, boludo.”
I grin at him, and he responds by raising a small pet carrier he’s carrying.
“I thought you might need a piece of home,” He says.
He sets the carrier down on the ground and pulls back the latch.
For a second, nothing happens. Then a small, frantic ball of black-and-tan fur emerges from the shadows of the crate.
The puppy's tiny claws scramble desperately on the gravel as it bolts away from us, stumbling toward the fountain.
My breath falters in my throat as my world suddenly shrinks down to a furball.
"Pedro!" I say, a genuine smile breaking across my face.
Pedro lets out a high, sharp yip before he scrambles toward me.
His tiny tail is wagging so violently that his entire back half shakes.
I bend down, reaching out for him, ignoring the sharp, stabbing protest of my shoulder.
Pedro collides with me, his wet tongue finding my chin.
I pull him into my chest, burying my face in the soft, warm fur behind his ears. He smells of clean shampoo and lemons.
“So that’s his name.” Julian chuckles as he settles beside me on the stone bench
“Mateo named him,” I chuckle as Pedro wriggles in my arms.
But the laughter fades just as quickly. A heavy lump rises in my throat, making it hard to swallow, as I remember the day Mateo first brought Pedro home. Julian squeezes my good shoulder in silence to comfort me.
"I tried all kinds of names, and he never responds to anything,” Julian says.
“I grabbed him when I went to your apartment that night before we left for Italy," he adds, reaching out to scratch the puppy’s head. "All the guys checked your apartment, but we were too late. When we got there, it was spotless. The only thing that didn’t belong there was this puppy.”
“What do you think they did to Mateo’s body?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“We don’t know. Don’t think about that. It’ll only drag you somewhere darker. You don’t belong there…” He pauses, his eyes locking onto mine. “And you certainly don’t belong here.”
I freeze.
“What?” I ask, certain I must have misheard him.
“Kat, listen,” he says after a beat, his voice dropping into an urgent whisper.
I frown in confusion.
"You need to leave this place.”
“What do you mean?” He rises to his feet and starts pacing the gravel path back and forth.
"You aren't healing here, you're… being domesticated by a criminal." He says, running a hand through his hair.
“Julian,” I say, swallowing the bitter taste of his words in my mouth.
"Damiano isn't the savior he wants you to believe he is. He’s part of the reason Mateo is dead. If you stay here, you’re just waiting for the next bullet to find you.”
He paces back to me, then reaches out to hold both my arms as he tries to reason with me.
“Kat, I can protect you in a way he never will." He says it without hesitation, his eyes full of conviction that makes my chest heavy.
"What do you mean he is the reason Mateo is dead?" My voice drops as I try to understand his accusation. The words feel heavy and dangerous.
"A mobster arrives in Argentina and, of everyone in the country, just happens to target you? You, who are friends with another mobster? Do you truly believe that attack was random?"
"Mateo wouldn't have asked him to protect me if he was responsible for any of this."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs and paces away from me. When he turns back, he looks exasperated.
"Katarina, you don't understand the sheer number of enemies this family has," he says. "If you stay, you'll always have a target on your back."
"Damiano has a plan. He’s tracking the payment Nicolod made to Alfonso. He's going to prove Nicolo was the one behind it. Once he does, the Mafia will withdraw their protection, and then he’s free to get him."
Julian doesn't pull away. He leans in, his breath hitching, his eyes searching mine with a desperate clarity. He lets out a soft, hollow laugh that sounds more like a choke.
"And you really believe him? You think Damiano is going to do all those things he said? He’s their ally, Kat."
"He won’t choose him over me," I whisper.
"Kat." He says my name like a prayer he knows won’t get answered. There’s a painful intensity in his eyes. It makes my breath catch, and I suddenly sense his loyalty to me is about more than just the job.
"You must see how stupid it is to trust someone from the mafia."
Could he be right?
Am I deceiving myself?
“Who must I trust then? You?” My voice cracks with frustration. “You couldn’t even protect us that night. What makes you think we can survive this? And just the two of us?!”
The moment the words leave my mouth, regret hits me like a punch. I watch guilt flood his face as he flinches, my words clearly cutting deeper than I intended.
“We weren’t prepared, Kat. That attack blindsided all of us—even your brother,” he says, then quickly lowers his voice and glances toward the mansion.
When he leans in closer, he says, “I am prepared now. I’ve been planning this since we arrived.”
I pull away and start walking, Pedro still cradled in my arms.
“I’m not arguing with you anymore, Julian,” I warn, hearing his heavy footsteps closing in behind me almost immediately. His right hand catches my arm and turns me around effortlessly.
“Just say the word, and we'll leave tonight.
Don't let him do this to you. Look at you.” Julian's gaze flickers to my hair, something raw and wounded flashing behind the disgust. “You dyed your hair.
You changed it—for him. And you don't even see it, do you?
He's marking you, Kat. Little by little, he's turning you into something that belongs to him.”
The insult felt like a physical slap.
“I didn’t change my hair because of him—you know what? I don’t have to argue with you. I’m not running anymore,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to stay with me if you want to leave. I don’t expect you to.”
He didn’t agree to this. He doesn’t have to keep risking his safety for me.
“You’re making a mistake,” Julian says, his face hardening into a grim mask.
He pulls a smartphone from the inner pocket of his jacket and shoves it toward me. “Look. The media frenzy in Argentina is out of control. They’re digging into your life, Kat.”
My stomach drops as I scan the headline:
Actress Katarina Flores Missing.
Below it, photos of my own face stare back at me. Photos that were taken a few weeks ago at a gala, when my life was completely different.
“If we go back now, we can control the narrative,” presses Julian. “If you stay any longer here, people will sound the alarm. They’ll look for you everywhere."
I inhale deeply, allowing the cool air to steady me.
“I just need to appease them. If I give them a story they can believe, they’ll stop talking. I’ll send an email to Sol later.”
This time, he lets out a harsh, bitter laugh.
“You think one email will stop a search? You’re being naive, Kat. Damiano is using you as bait to catch his enemies. He doesn’t care about you. He only cares about owning you.”
He leans in, his eyes searching mine.
“Did you forget what happened a year ago? He used your face and your popularity to make Lux a success. He showed you off to build his own name, and as soon as he got what he wanted, he left. He broke your heart without a second thought. Why would this time be any different?”
“That’s enough,” I say, my voice rising.
“It’s the truth!” he insists, eyes wild with frustration. “He’s a criminal. A killer. You’re sleeping with a man who only cares about his own gain!”
I shake my head and shove the phone back at him.
“I have no desire to go back. I hated that life anyway. And now, with Mateo gone, that apartment is nothing but a graveyard. I’m not going back. I’m staying to fight.”
Julian’s face darkens. He steps forward and grabs my arms, his grip frantic and rough. “You’re fighting? You’re just lying in his bed letting him do whatever he wants!”
This time, I lose control. I shove him and shout, “You’re an asshole!”
I feel him before I see him.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
The voice pierces the garden like a blade, and our heads snap in his direction.
Damiano stands a few feet away. The calm control he usually shows is gone. His eyes are pitch black, fixed on Julian’s hands, grasping my arms.
“Damiano, wait—” I start.
But he’s already moving. In two strides, he’s there. In one quick motion, he grabs Julian by the collar. His other fist pulls back, knuckles clenched, muscles tense for a punch that could kill.
Julian doesn’t flinch. He stares back with a silent, defiant challenge. The tension between them crackles.
If Damiano hits him, I know Julian will fight back, and one of them could end up dead.
I don’t think. I act.
A soft, sharp gasp escapes me as my knees buckle. I stumble back against the stone bench, pressing a palm on my temple.
“Damiano… I… I feel dizzy,” I murmur, my voice thin. I let my body go limp just enough that he has no choice but to release Julian and catch me.
The change in him is instant. The rage vanishes, replaced by panicked concern. He lets Julian go and pulls me to his chest.
“Katarina? What is it? Is it your shoulder?” His voice is urgent, the fight already forgotten.
“I just… the sun,” I whisper, leaning my head against his heartbeat, playing the overwhelmed survivor perfectly. “I need to go inside. Please.”
Damiano glances back at Julian with a final, murderous promise before scooping me into his arms.
Over Damiano’s shoulder, I catch Julian’s eyes.
He stands in the gravel, rubbing his throat. He isn’t fooled. His gaze is clear and haunted as he watches Damiano carry me away.
The sight hurts more than I expected. How did the only real friend I had left become so bitter? Was he jealous this whole time?
I banish the thought immediately, ashamed of myself for even considering it. The only real friendship I had left now lies shattered at my feet.
And I’m the one who broke it.