Chapter 26
Katarina
The next day
Pop! Pop-pop!
The recoil jolts my arms as I pull the trigger. I stand in the shooting range alone, the weight of the gun feeling lighter in my hand the longer I practice.
I like the noise and the smell of gunpowder that comes after every shot. It stops my mind from going somewhere I don’t want to follow. The silence is where Mateo lives now. He’s there with the guilt, and the questions I’ve yet to find the answers to.
What kind of person falls in love in the middle of all this? Another question that keeps echoing in my head, bringing shame.
I pull the trigger again, and for one second, my mind goes blank, and I can breathe easier.
“You’re leaning too far back,” a man’s voice calls out, pulling me out of my focus.
I click the gun’s safety on and turn. A smile tugs on my face when I see Julian standing by the wall of weapons, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled up, carrying two bottles of water.
“Mateo always said my stance is fine,” I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
Julian walks over and hands me a bottle of water before letting out a small huff.
“You know that angel in the garden fountain you love so much?” He tilts his head. “Right now, she has a more relaxed posture than you do. You’re too stiff.”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “Are you mocking my poses? Need I remind you, I’ve done years of modeling?”
“If a pigeon landed on your head, I’m convinced you wouldn’t even blink,” he says with a grin. He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His hand lingers there, cupping my cheek.
For a moment, it just feels like us again.
Like Buenos Aires. Like before the nightmare.
The past few days had been so thick with tension between us.
He barely talked to me, and for a moment, I thought he was mad at me.
So now that he’s here, handing me water and making stupid jokes, something in my chest quietly unknots.
I let myself relish the feeling for exactly one breath until he speaks again.
“Don’t you miss modeling? I know Mateo would hate this, hiding in this basement, shooting guns all day.” He says the word guns as if it tasted badly in his mouth. As if he’s not walking around carrying one all day.
“Mateo isn’t here, Julian,” I whisper.
“I know.” He sighs. “But I am. And I miss the Darling of Argentina.”
I look away, not really knowing what to say.
He pauses, his thumb tracing the healing bruise on my jaw. “Damiano is trying to play a hero, but he’s just a thug with a big bank account. He loves controlling you. He’s teaching you how to be like him, so you have no choice but to stay.”
“He cares for me,” I defend, tired of the same conversation.
“And what has it cost you?” Julian asks, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“Your brother is gone. Now you’re about to lose the rest of your life.
He’s ‘saving’ you by destroying every part of it you actually wanted.
He’s dragging you to hell. If I were him. ..” he trails off as his phone chimes.
He pulls it out from his pocket, and I watch his face go red. He shoves the phone at me.
KATARINA FLORES FLOWN TO SWISS CLINIC: Family Spokesman Cites Illness.
A headline of a news article from Clarín flashes on the screen.
“See?” His jaw clenches as he looks at me with such cold disdain. “Look at what’s happening, Kat. He just ended your career.”
“Get your hands off her!”
I startle from the sound of his voice bellowing from out of nowhere.
Damiano is standing a few feet away from us.
He walks into the range, and suddenly the room feels too crowded.
He isn’t looking at me, though. His eyes are fixed on Julian’s hand on my neck.
He walks right past me, shoving himself between us, seething with anger.
“I don’t have fucking patience, so why don’t you stop fucking pissing me off?” He warns.
Julian doesn’t flinch. He gets into his face and says, “Or what? Will you kill me? Go ahead. Prove to her that you’re exactly what I said you are. You don’t own her.”
My eyes go wide, startled by Julian’s words. Then the panic sets in a second later.
It happens so fast, I couldn’t even scream until after the first blow landed.
Damiano lunges first, his fist connecting with Julian’s jaw with a sickening thud that makes my own teeth ache.
Before Julian can even steady himself, Damiano is on him, seizing his collar and slamming him back against the stone wall.
The sound of Julian’s head hitting the masonry echoes through the chamber, hard and loud.
“Stop it! Damiano, let him go!” I yell, but they are past hearing me.
Julian doesn’t crumple. Instead, a raw, animalistic snarl rips from his throat.
He surges forward, his arms shucking off Damiano’s grip with a desperate burst of strength that sends Damiano stumbling back.
Julian doesn’t hesitate; he throws a heavy punch that catches Damiano square in the face, drawing a spray of crimson that flecks the floor.
“No!” I scream.
They collide once again until their momentum gives way and they crash hard onto the cold floor. They roll, a mess of tangled limbs and bare teeth, gasping for air between strikes.
“Both of you, stop it!” My voice is raw as I shout, my heart hammering against my ribs. I step toward them, then flinch back as they tumble toward a heavy oak table.
Damiano manages to twist mid-roll, his weight winning out as he pins Julian’s shoulders to the ground.
He straddles Julian’s chest, his face a mask of lethal rage, and begins raining down heavy, back-to-back blows.
Each strike lands on Julian’s face with a sickening smack, and the pain ricochets through me as if I’m the one being hit.
“Stop!” I scream again and again, but none of them seems to hear me.
Then the heavy doors to the chamber burst open, the wood hitting the stone with a crack that cuts through my screams. I spin around, breathless and trembling, as two men charge into the room. They freeze for a split second, taking in the carnage on the floor.
“Whoa! Basta!”
The two men rush in, and I freeze as I recognize them. I remember them from the interrogation room. The night Damiano killed Alfonso.
One of them is tall and slender. He has striking blonde hair and icy blue eyes that seem to track everything at once. The other man is tall and muscular, with olive skin and long, black hair pulled in a loose pony. He has warm, playful brown eyes, focused entirely on the unfolding fight.
The blonde guy grabs Damiano around the chest, hauling him back. The other steps between the two men, looking at Julian on the floor as if surveying Damiano’s work.
“Chi su? What is this?” The blonde guy grunts, struggling to restrain Damiano.
“Dio mio, what is up with you?” The long-haired guy asks Damiano.
Julian manages to stand, wiping blood from his face as he leans on the wall.
He straightens his shirt and looks at me as if he were sorry for me when he was the one who got beaten up.
I take a step toward him, but before I could even say a thing, he says, “Take a look around you,” and walks out without so much as a backward glance.
As the door slams behind him, the guy with the long dark hair turns to me with a wide, slightly inappropriate grin on his face, revealing a tooth gap I’ve only seen high-fashion models sport.
He nudges the other man and says, “See? I told you. He’s been insufferable for weeks, and now I understand why.” He looks at me with open appreciation.
He steps toward me, ignoring the murder in Damiano’s eyes.
“?Hola, preciosa!” he purrs in Spanish, his voice smooth. “I’m Lucian. I see Damiano has been keeping the best view in the house to himself. That blonde hielo currently wrestling your boyfriend is Andreas.”
Andreas releases Damiano and straightens his suit, unhurried. Unlike Lucian, who fills every room he enters, Andreas seems a bit more reserved and calculating. He looks at the overturned table, the blood on the floor, and then at me—and something in his expression shifts, just slightly.
“A thousand pardons for the mess,” he says to me, his voice quiet and precise, a faint Russian accent underneath his English.
“Are you alright?” he asks Damiano.
“Stai mutu!” Damiano growls, adjusting his shirt.
I ignore the newcomers and turn to him, my arms reaching for his bleeding face, checking his injuries.
“Are you crazy?!” I scold, my arms crossing on my chest and my voice harsh enough to make Lucian whistle. “What is wrong with you?!”
Damiano blinks, looking gobsmacked by my scolding.
“What’s wrong with me? How about you letting him touch you like that?!” He argues, glaring at me.
“He was trying to console me!” I snap. “He’s my friend, Damiano.”
“Your friend,” He repeats, the word coming out like something he’s tasted and found rotten. “Your friend who just puts his hand around your neck. Your friend who leans into your space every time I turn my back. Tell me—does he console all his friends like that, or just you?”
He takes a step toward me, his chest heaving as he snarls. “Friend? That’s your bodyguard! He was checking how far he could push. He wants you to see a threat so he can take you away. He doesn’t want to save you—he wants to take you from me.”
“He’s making sure I’m making sane decisions, he’s just looking out!” I scoff.
“No, he’s not,” Damiano says, dropping his voice so low, thinking it will intimidate me. “Don’t act stupid. That rat has been trying to get in your pants since the day you met.”
“Oh, for fucksake! Not everybody is like you!” I scream at him.
“Bellissimo,” Lucian says, leaning back against a weapon rack. He catches my eye and gives a slow, encouraging nod. “She’s right, you know. You’re being a brute, Damiano. Go on, God, I’ve waited years for someone actually to yell at him.”
“Zitto,” Damiano warns.
“Don’t listen to him,” Andreas adds. He looks at me with a wicked glint in his icy blue eyes. “He needs an ego check. Honestly, it’s refreshing to see him lose an argument for once.”
I turn to them and yell, “Wonderful. Lovely. Thank you both so much for the commentary.” I gesture at the door. “Do you want to pull up chairs, or are you done?”
Lucian blinks. Then his face breaks into a massive grin. Andreas presses his lips together like he’s trying very hard not to smile. Their hands fly up in surrender, and they start to walk out. Before they’re out of the room, I hear Lucian mutter to Andreas, “I really like her.”
“I can’t believe you beat him up like that.”
“What? Do you want to run to him? Take care of him, maybe?” Damiano gets into my face, his jaw clenching.
“Get out,” I say.
Damiano blinks. “What?”
“I said get out!”
“I’m not finished—”
“Just leave me alone,” I interrupt. “I can’t look at you right now.”
“Fine,” he rasps before turning to leave.
The door slams so hard the targets at the end of the range shudder on their lines. I stand there, heartbeat racing, staring at nothing.
And then, before I can stop it, the thought creeps in.
“Does he console all his friends like that, or just you?”
I rub my hands over my face.
I don’t want to think about it. I’ve never thought about it. Julian has always just been Julian—warm, steady, and safe. He’s the one constant ally I’ve had through all of this.
His hand on my neck, his thumb on my jaw, the way he always finds a reason to be close. No, it can’t be.
Is he?
I sink onto a bench, elbows on my knees, and stare at the floor.
Somewhere in this villa, he is alone with a split lip and a black eye. Because of me. Because I brought him here, and maybe I never fully understood why he really came.
I am so selfish and stupid.