Evening — Lorenzo's Villa.
The living room was drowned in thick darkness, broken only by the trembling glow of a forgotten lamp in the corner. Lorenzo was sprawled across the couch, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants. His messy hair, exhausted features, and bloodshot eyes betrayed three sleepless nights. A bottle in hand, he drank in long gulps, as if every drop of alcohol could drown a little more of his pain.
Around him, a suffocating silence. The only sounds were the glass hitting the table whenever he set it down, and his heavy, broken breathing. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into nothingness as though searching for an answer he would never find.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
_ Three months. Three damn months digging, searching, trying to figure out who had been circling around me all these years. And when I finally found out… I wish I never had. It was him. Fabio. My brother-in-arms, my blood brother. The guy I would've taken a bullet for without hesitation._
He inhaled deeply, jaw clenched, throat dry. A silent tear rolled down his cheek, which he wiped away immediately with a rough motion.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
_ And now he's dead. Dead by my hand. I'm the one who pulled the trigger, the one who ended his life. And the worst part… I don't even know anymore if I'm supposed to feel guilty or relieved. All I know is that I'm hurting. Fuck, I'm hurting like never before._
He grabbed the bottle again and drank straight from it, the burning liquid tearing through his throat.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
_ I spent my whole life hating, fighting, crushing anyone who stood in my way. I always said I only killed those who deserved it, those who hurt people. Never for pleasure. Never for glory. Just for justice. But this… this is different. Fabio wasn't an enemy at first. He was my guy, my brother. And yet… I'm the one who pulled the trigger. I keep trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do, but damn it… how do you live with that? How do you keep breathing when you killed the person you called "brother"?_
He closed his eyes for a moment, replaying the scene over and over again. The gunshot. The blood. The silence after.
A nightmare that refused to fade.
Lorenzo (painful thought)
_ And Chloé… she hates me now. She looks at me like I'm a monster. I saw the fear in her eyes, the kind of fear I always refused to inspire in the woman I love. She, the one who always stood up to me, who spoke to me without trembling… she was afraid of me._
He slammed his fist against his chest angrily.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
_ Damn it! I would've rather she slapped me, screamed at me, spat her hatred in my face… but not that look. That look of disgust and fear… I can't forget it._
He rested his head against the back of the couch, his gaze lost on the ceiling.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
_ I know she'll never forgive me. How could she? Who would want to stay with a guy like me? A man with blood on his hands. Chloé deserves better. She deserves a man who protects her, not a guy who destroys everything he touches._
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
_ I'm screwed, damn it. Ever since she came into my life, everything changed. She messed up my head, made this heart beat again when I thought it was dead. And now that she's gone… I feel empty. Like everything around me is collapsing._
His gaze darkened, his voice nearly fading away.
Lorenzo (murmuring)
_ Maybe she was right to leave. Maybe I'm just a monster disguised as a man. Yeah… a monster that can't be loved._
The silence was suddenly shattered by a loud noise: the living room door had burst open violently.
Lorenzo flinched, eyes half-closed, breathing uneven. In the doorway stood a massive figure: Marco. His eyes burned red with rage, fists clenched, jaw tight. He walked forward slowly, every step echoing through the room like a threat.
Lorenzo (surprised, hoarse voice)
_ Marco… what the hell are you doing here?_
No answer. Marco said nothing. He charged at him, consumed by a rage he could no longer control. He grabbed Lorenzo by the throat and lifted him violently. Lorenzo immediately struggled for air, trying to fight back.
Lorenzo (screaming in pain)
_ Aaaaaaaaah! Let go of me, damn it!_
The slap had turned into a punch. Marco, his face twisted with rage, struck without thinking — a savage blow that sent Lorenzo crashing onto the floor like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. The dull sound of his body hitting the hardwood echoed through the room, followed by a guilty silence.
Marco (rage-filled scream)
— You fucking traitor, why did you kill him?! Why did you kill our brother, Lorenzo?! WHY?!
Marco was shaking, rage consuming his entire body. Hot, bitter tears streamed down his cheeks, but his voice remained raw, more fury than pain. He wanted answers, explanations that violence itself couldn't force out.
Lorenzo stayed on the ground for a moment, breathing heavily, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He touched his lips — they were bleeding. A rough, almost mocking laugh escaped him before he slowly pushed himself back up. Every movement hurt, but he dragged himself to the couch and collapsed onto it heavily, as though his body was too exhausted to carry the weight of what he had just endured.
Lorenzo (calm, low voice)
— It was him. Fabio was the traitor. And you know how I deal with traitors.
Hearing that, Marco froze. His expression shifted between disbelief and rage. Lorenzo's words hit harder than any punch.
Marco (confused, pleading)
— What are you talking about? What reason could you possibly have to kill the man who worked for us for years… Answer me, Lorenzo. Why did you kill our friend?! WHY?!
Lorenzo's face turned red as anger surged through him like a wave ready to swallow everything. His eyes burned with icy determination.
Lorenzo (roaring in fury)
— BECAUSE IT WAS HIM! HE WAS IRINA'S BROTHER! FABIO WAS THE BLACKMAILER! THE ONE WHO STABBED ME IN THE BACK FOR YEARS! He pretended to be Fabio, but his real name was Enzo. That son of a bitch tried to rape Chloé. He's the one who killed my wife's father. And you wanna know the worst part? He handed all the information about my cartel to the police. It's only a matter of time before they find out that the Jaguar is me. Do you get it now?! Do you understand why I put him down?!
The words exploded through the room — brutal, sharp, merciless. No excuses, no softened remorse. Lorenzo spoke like a man ripping off a mask and exposing years of lies. His voice didn't shake; it was cold and cutting. But beneath that coldness, there was pain — deep, relentless pain.
Marco staggered back before collapsing onto the couch across from him, breathless. He rubbed his temples as though trying to erase a truth too heavy to bear.
Marco (shaking voice, almost whispering)
— So… it really was Fabio? He was our brother…
Lorenzo (sharp, bitter)
— He was never our brother. That psycho was nothing but a traitor. And you know what? His death doesn't bring me peace. It doesn't relieve me. I hurt even more now than before.
A heavy silence fell again, broken only by the sound of breathing and the tears Marco struggled to hold back. Lorenzo stared straight ahead, his eyes drowned in a cold rage that let nothing through.
After several minutes that felt like hours, Lorenzo finally broke the silence with a firm, direct voice — the voice of a leader rebuilding his pieces after the storm.
Lorenzo (calm but commanding)
— You're gonna contact our people in the police. You're gonna make them erase every piece of evidence Fabio gave them about me and the cartel. Clean up my tracks. I don't want any surprises.
Marco nodded silently. The order hung heavily in the air, and he felt the seriousness of the task. There was no room left for hesitation.
Lorenzo (cold, controlled)
— And find me Valentina's address. Chloé's friend. I want to know everything about her — her circle, her habits, absolutely everything.
At the mention of her name, Marco frowned. A spark of suspicion flashed in his eyes. Lorenzo's sudden interest in the girl surprised him.
Marco (curious, skeptical)
— Why do you want information on Valentina? Where's Chloé? Don't tell me you've already moved on from her to start chasing her friend? I'm warning you—
Lorenzo raised a hand, silencing him instantly. His gaze turned colder, almost deadly.
Lorenzo (imposing, threatening)
— Watch your tone when you talk to me, kid. I'm not interested in her. And I know damn well you've got your eye on her.
Marco (calm, trying to stay neutral)
— Then why?
Lorenzo inhaled deeply, his chest rising heavily as though every word cost him something. When he spoke again, his voice was low, carrying a tenderness he refused to admit, mixed with icy determination.
Lorenzo (calm, meaningful)
— Because my girl is staying at her place. She doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. Chloé left me.
The sentence hit like a bomb. Marco's mouth fell open in disbelief.
Marco (shocked, almost outraged)
— What?! Chloé left you?! What the hell did you do?!
Lorenzo didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted toward a vague point on the wall, as if searching for an explanation that didn't exist. A brief, joyless laugh escaped him.
Lorenzo (calm)
_ Chloé knows I killed Fabio. She knows now that I'm a murderer, and she doesn't want to see me anymore._
The words sliced through the room like a knife. Marco froze, unable to respond.
Lorenzo (calm)
_ And maybe it's better this way. I'd rather she stays far away from me than keep her by my side against her will. I don't want her living in fear of me._
A heavy silence settled between them. Lorenzo spoke without trembling, his voice low and controlled — the voice of a man who had accepted his own sentence.
Marco (interrupting, incredulous)
_ Are you serious? You really want you two to separate?_
Lorenzo (firm)
_ It's not about what I want. She's the one who decides. And what she wants right now is for us to leave her alone. After what she saw, I can't ask her to stay._
Marco frowned, worry taking over. Behind his anger, practical fear began creeping in: the police, reputation, danger.
Marco (calm but pressing)
_ And what if she turns you in? Did you think about that? How did she even find out all this? Don't tell me you killed him in front of her?_
Lorenzo (icy)
_ I don't want to talk about it anymore. Just do what I told you. Get me everything on Valentina — address, relatives, habits, everything, and fast._
Marco (sighing)
_ You planning to spy on her?_
Lorenzo (deep, resolute voice)
_ Don't be stupid. I don't want to spy on her for fun. My girl is at her place. If she's in danger there, I'm bringing her back immediately. End of story._
The sentence carried a weight that shifted the atmosphere: beneath Lorenzo's violence and coldness, there was a promise.
Marco (calm, but worried)
_ And if she refuses to see you? What are you gonna do?_
Lorenzo (determined)
_ I promised her father I'd protect her. Even if Chloé rejects me as the man in her life, I'll still be her shield from the shadows. Nobody will touch her. Not even that crazy woman who claims to be her mother._
The mention of her "mother" shocked Marco.
Marco (surprised)
_ What? Chloé's mother? You know her?_
Lorenzo (red eyes, cold voice)
_ I've never met her face-to-face, but I know exactly what she is. She runs a prostitution network. And now that Chloé's father is dead, I'm sure she's gonna come back into her life._
Marco nodded slowly, stunned. The idea that Chloé's mother ran a prostitution ring sounded unbelievable, but Lorenzo spoke with the certainty of a man who knew too much.
Marco (shocked, disbelieving)
_ I can't believe this… Chloé's mother runs a prostitution network? And you think she'd try to drag her own daughter into it?_
Lorenzo (calm but deadly)
_ If she dares, I'll destroy her. She has no idea who I am or what I'm capable of._
The tone carried a barely hidden threat. Marco, shaken, suddenly needed air, alcohol — anything to stop the trembling in his hands.
Marco (sighing)
_ I need a drink. I need time to process all this._
He slowly stood up, grabbed the bottle, and poured himself a glass while Lorenzo remained motionless, staring into nothingness, completely absent. The room closed in around their heavy silence and the decisions yet to come.
The Next Morning — Valentina's House.
Morning brought pale light, but the tension remained. Chloé, dressed in loose pajama pants and a wrinkled shirt, sat on the couch with a glass of juice in her hand. She stared blankly ahead, her thoughts still trapped in the nightmare of the previous night. The living room door suddenly opened.
A man around twenty-five years old walked in, charismatic and elegant, carrying a suitcase. He had the appearance of someone with nothing to hide, yet whose smile concealed secrets. Chloé flinched, her glass trembling slightly in her hand.
Man (curious, smiling)
_ Hey… who are you?_
Chloé narrowed her eyes, instantly defensive.
Chloé (surprised, wary)
_ I'm Val's friend. And you? Who are you? How did you get keys to walk in here without knocking?_
At her words, the man let out a faint charming smile, almost teasing, clearly amused by her suspicion. His calm yet piercing gaze slid over her with unsettling confidence. Slowly, he approached, placing his suitcase beside the couch before extending his hand in a measured gesture — almost too confident.
Man (smirking slightly)
— I'm Carlos… Valentina's cousin.
Chloé stayed still for a moment, staring at his outstretched hand. She hesitated, studying him from head to toe, noticing every detail: the gold watch on his wrist, the subtle but expensive cologne, the slightly unbuttoned shirt exposing a chest he seemed to display without even realizing it. Her instincts screamed at her to stay cautious, but she eventually shook his hand anyway.
Her grip was quick, cold, distant. The moment their hands touched, she pulled hers away, lips pressed tightly together, her eyes locked onto Carlos's with a spark of defiance.
To be continued…