BLOOD AND BETRAYAL

Chapter 20: Searching for answers

His mother’s evasion had only confirmed what he already suspected—there were layers to his father’s murder he had yet to peel back. And if Don Rican thought he could control him with secrets, he had another thing coming.

Victor drummed his fingers against his glass of whiskey, his mind a storm of thoughts. He needed leverage. Answers. And right now, there was only one person who could give him both.

Alana.

But tomorrow morning

He needed his body charged.Sleep eluded him but eventually it came

Morning came faster than the bullets he's been dodging lately, after freshening up Victor had his sight set on getting answers. With his gun loaded up he went hunting

---

He made his way toward Alana’s room, his steps unhurried but firm.

She had played the game well—too well. Always composed, always unreadable. But now, she had something to lose.

He didn’t bother knocking.

Victor pushed open the door, his dark eyes locking onto the woman standing by the window. Fresh out of the shower, her damp box braids trailed down her back, her silk robe clinging to her curves in a way that only added to his frustration.

She turned slowly, her expression giving nothing away. "Is breaking into my room going to be a habit?"

Victor lifted the gun in his hand, pointing it straight at her face. "That depends. Are you going to start telling the truth?"

Alana didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out a slow breath, eyes flicking between him and the gun. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already."

"Don’t test me," he warned, voice low.

A slow smirk tugged at her lips. "You think threats will work on me, Moretti? I grew up with Don Rican. Fear isn’t a language I speak."

Victor clenched his jaw. She was good—too good. He took a step forward, closing the space between them, the barrel of his gun grazing her cheek. "Then let’s speak a language you do understand. My father’s death. Your part in it. Start talking."

Alana tilted her head slightly, her breath warm against the metal. "And if I don’t?"

Victor exhaled sharply through his nose. She was pushing him, daring him to lose control.

In one swift move, Alana’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist. She turned her face, pressing her lips just barely against the cold steel of the gun. "You can pull the trigger, Victor. But if you do, you’ll never get the truth."

His grip tightened. His heart pounded.

She was toying with him, using seduction as a shield. And damn if it wasn’t working.

Victor let out a bitter chuckle, lowering the gun but not stepping back. "You really think you can play me, bella?"

Alana’s fingers trailed up his arm, slow and deliberate. "I think you need me more than you want to admit."

Victor’s gaze burned into hers, searching for any crack in her armor.

Finally, he let the tension break with a sharp smirk. "We’ll see about that."

He turned on his heel, heading for the door. But before he stepped out, he glanced back. "Enjoy your night, Alana. Tomorrow, you answer to me."

And with that, he disappeared into the dimly lit corridor, leaving her standing there, the ghost of his touch lingering on her skin.

---

Alana exhaled slowly as the door clicked shut behind Victor, the tension in the room lingering like the ghost of a cigarette’s last breath. Her pulse was steady, but her fingers twitched as she lifted them to her lips—the very place where steel had grazed skin, where the weight of a loaded gun had promised either death or submission.

Victor had come in with fire, but he had left with questions still unanswered. And that meant she still had control.

She turned toward the window, staring out at the Moretti estate under the cold glow of the moon. The city hummed in the distance, unaware of the war brewing beneath its surface. A small smirk tugged at her lips. You need me more than you realize, Victor.

But her amusement didn’t last long. The reality of her situation settled over her like a weighted chain. Victor Moretti was dangerous—not because of his reputation or his family name, but because of the way he looked at her. He wasn’t like the others. He was sharp, relentless, and worst of all, unpredictable.

And unpredictability got people killed.

Alana sighed and walked to her nightstand, pulling out a burner phone. She hesitated only a second before dialing.

It rang once. Twice.

Then, a smooth, deep voice answered.

“Did he bite?”

Alana rolled her eyes. “He didn’t shoot me in the face, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A chuckle. “Impressive. He’s harder to handle than his father was.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her temple. “Harder? No. Smarter? Maybe. He doesn’t trust me, Rican. Not fully.”

Silence. Then, “He will.”

She frowned, gripping the phone tighter. “You sound so sure.”

“I am sure. Because whether he trusts you or not, he’ll have no choice but to keep you close. And when the time comes… we strike.”

Alana’s stomach tightened. She had played this game before—one of deception, manipulation, survival. But Victor wasn’t an easy mark. He had already started asking the right questions, pushing past the surface. And that made him dangerous.

She leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

What if he’s not the one being played? What if I am?

She inhaled sharply and shook the thought away.

No. She knew who she was. What she was.

And she had come too far to doubt herself now.

So, she opened her eyes, her expression hardening as she spoke into the receiver.

"Tell me what’s next."

And with those words, the game continued.