the return home
1090 Words
A Week Later New york
Emily now Elena Moretti stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of the luxury penthouse in New York, staring down at the busy streets below. She clutched the phone in her hand, feeling the weight of what she was about to do.
Victor leaned against the bar, watching her with a smirk. "What are you waiting for?"
She exhaled, glancing at him. "Just… making sure I sound convincing."
Victor chuckled, crossing his arms. "You are convincing. You’ve trained for months. You walk, talk, and even breathe like Elena Moretti. The Don won’t suspect a thing."
She swallowed, nodding. Then, with a final breath, she dialed Don Carlo's number with Elena Moretti’s personal phone.
The phone rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered.
"Elena?"
Don Carlo.
Emily forced a smile, letting warmth seep into her voice. "Zio Carlo!" she greeted, slipping into her best impression of an affectionate niece. "It’s been too long!"
There was a brief pause before a hearty laugh rumbled through the phone.
"Elena, my dear! This is truly a wonderful surprise!"
She smiled, playing the part perfectly. "I just finished my studies in Paris, and I thought it was time I came home. I’ve missed everyone so much!"
"Missed us?" Carlo chuckled. "Well, your family has missed you too! You should have called sooner, cara! You know you’re always welcome here."
Emily let out a soft laugh, exactly as she imagined Elena would. "I wanted to wait until I was certain I was coming back for good. So… I hope you’re not too busy because I’m planning to return home next week."
Carlo let out an excited breath. "Nonsense, I’ll clear my schedule. I’ll send my driver to pick you up from the airport. You belong here, Elena."
She forced herself to sound grateful. "Grazie, Zio. I can’t wait to see you."
They exchanged a few more words before Carlo ended the call.
Victor, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "Not bad."
Emily set the phone down, exhaling deeply. "I can’t believe he bought it so easily."
Victor smirked, swirling the drink in his hand. "People see what they want to see. Don Carlo hasn’t seen Elena in years. And the real Elena is buried six feet under. You’re all he has now."
She clenched her fists. "Then I’ll make sure he never sees the truth coming."
Victor raised his glass in a silent toast. "That’s the spirit, Elena."
A week later, Emily boarded Victor’s private jet bound for Spain.
She sat stiffly in the plush leather seat, her fingers gripping the armrest as she stared out the window. The reality of what she was about to do was sinking in fast.
She wasn’t just pretending to be Elena.
She was walking straight into enemy territory.
Victor sat across from her, flipping through a file. "Relax," he said without looking up. "You’re overthinking it."
Emily tore her gaze from the window, frowning at him. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the one infiltrating one of the most powerful mafia families in the world."
Victor smirked, finally closing the file. "True. But I’ve been inside that world long enough to know how it works. Confidence is everything. If you walk in there doubting yourself, they’ll smell it like blood in the water."
She took a deep breath, pushing her doubts aside.
She couldn’t afford to fail.
She wouldn’t.
When the plane touched down in Madrid, a sleek black Maserati was already waiting on the tarmac.
Victor glanced at her. "Showtime, princess."
Emily swallowed and stepped out of the jet, keeping her posture calm and composed, just as she had been trained.
A man stood beside the car, waiting for her.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
His jet-black hair was neatly styled, but there was a roughness to his features something sharp and dangerous lurking beneath the smooth surface.
His cold, piercing blue eyes locked onto hers the moment she stepped forward.
For a brief second, something flickered in her mind.
He looked… familiar.
But before she could grasp why, the man stepped forward and opened the car door for her.
"Elena Moretti?" His voice was deep, calm, but with an undeniable edge.
She snapped out of her daze, masking her confusion with a polite smile.
"Yes. And you are?"
The man studied her for a moment before offering a slight nod.
"Marcus Moretti. I’ll be taking you home."
Her breath hitched slightly.
Marcus Moretti.
She had heard the name before from victor
“Oh” she finally recalled
He was Don Carlo’s most trusted enforcer, his right-hand man. Ruthless. Loyal. Deadly.
And now, he was her ride home.
She couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
She offered him a warm smile, just as Elena would. "It’s a pleasure, Marcus."
He didn’t return the smile.
Instead, he stepped aside, motioning for her to get into the car.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping into the luxurious black leather seat.
Marcus closed the door behind her before getting in on the driver’s side.
As the car pulled away from the airport, Emily forced herself to stay calm, but tension coiled inside her.
She was in enemy territory now.
And there was no turning back.
The ride was long and silent.
Marcus barely said a word.
Emily, too focused on staying in character, didn’t dare break the silence.
Instead, she let her eyes wander, taking in the city she hadn’t seen in years. The streets, the people, the sights all so familiar yet so foreign.
She had lived here once, long ago. But she had never called it home.
And now?
She was returning not as herself, but as a ghost of someone else.
She stole a glance at Marcus. He was focused on the road, his jaw tight, his fingers gripping the steering wheel.
There was something about him.
Something unsettlingly familiar.
Her stomach twisted.
Had they met before?
No. That wasn’t possible.
She had never met Marcus Moretti.
And yet…
She shook the thought away. It didn’t matter.
What mattered was the mission.
She clenched her hands into fists.
This wasn’t about nostalgia or familiarity.
This was about revenge.
She had spent ten years searching for answers.
And now, she was finally inside the walls of the family that had betrayed her brother.
She wouldn’t fail.
She couldn’t fail.
And as the car sped toward the Moretti estate, Emily forced herself to remember:
Elena Moretti was coming home.
But Emily Moretti was coming for blood.
- Writer
