The Devil Wears Vengeance
2083 Words
Milan – One Month Later
Camila adjusted the hem of the gown on her model, her hands steady despite the chaos backstage. Her collection — a fusion of shadows and silk — was minutes from debuting, and her heart thundered louder than the music playing beyond the curtain.
This wasn’t just a fashion show.
This was a declaration of war.
She glanced at the final piece — the Ignis Dress — the one she’d sent to Alejandro. Blood-red satin. A slit that danced like fire. Embroidered roses climbing from the bodice to the shoulder. It was her weapon, stitched with rebellion.
The model wearing it, tall and striking, winked at her. “You sure you want this dress to be last? It’s going to burn the place down.”
Camila smirked. “Exactly.”
She walked away, nerves replaced by purpose.
Alejandro was in Milan. She knew it in her bones.
Now she was done hiding.
---
Front Row Shadows
Rodrigo stood backstage with a headset on, helping the crew manage lights and sequence. He wasn’t a designer, but he had insisted on staying close. “I’m your shadow,” he had told Camila. “If he steps out of the dark, I’ll see him first.”
But as the show began, his stomach twisted.
The audience was a blend of fashion critics, influencers, and billionaires.
And one Mafia boss.
He spotted Alejandro in the front row — dressed in black, his presence colder than the marble floors. His eyes weren’t on the stage.
They were scanning backstage.
Rodrigo moved quickly.
---
Lights, Camera… Power
As the models strutted down the runway, the music pulsed — a haunting orchestral remix of Habanera. Camila’s designs stole breaths: fierce cuts, glimmering shadows, wings of silk stitched to resilience.
And then — silence.
The final beat dropped.
The final model stepped out.
The Ignis Dress shimmered under the spotlight, the red silk catching like flame. The crowd gasped, not just at the dress, but at the fire in it. Something feral. Unapologetic.
From the shadows, Alejandro leaned forward, eyes sharp.
She was speaking to him.
With fabric. With fury.
With defiance.
---
The Confrontation
After the final applause and flashing cameras, Camila slipped into a private dressing room. Her hands were trembling now — not from fear, but from adrenaline.
The door opened.
She didn’t need to turn.
“I knew you'd come,” she said.
Alejandro’s voice was soft, almost amused. “You called me.”
She turned then.
He stood in his tailored suit, black tie, no guards. Just him — sharp cheekbones, cruel lips, and the storm she remembered from four years ago.
“You look different,” he said, stepping forward.
“So do you,” Camila replied. “More… dangerous.”
He smiled. “And you—more bold. I like that.”
She crossed her arms. “Don’t. Compliment me like we’re old friends.”
Alejandro’s expression didn’t change. “You disappeared. Lied. Ran. You broke an oath.”
“I was sixteen. You were a killer.”
“I was your betrothed.”
“You were a prison.”
Silence.
Then Alejandro said, “And now?”
“I’m free.”
He stepped closer, closing the distance. “You’re mine.”
She didn’t flinch. “You’re too late.”
Alejandro’s eyes darkened. “Is it Rodrigo?”
She didn’t answer.
“Does he make you forget who you are?”
“I remember exactly who I am. Because of him.”
Alejandro’s jaw clenched. “And you think this… this life? It’ll protect you? You wore that dress for me. You wanted this.”
Camila stared at him. “I wanted to show you I’m not afraid.”
A beat.
“You should be.”
---
Rodrigo’s Warning
Rodrigo burst through the hallway, gun tucked beneath his jacket. He found Alejandro exiting Camila’s dressing room, eyes calm.
Camila stepped into the hall behind him.
“You should leave,” Rodrigo said coldly.
Alejandro smirked. “Rodrigo. I expected more finesse from a lawyer’s son.”
“I’m more than that now.”
“I know. I saw what you did in Florence.”
Rodrigo’s hand drifted toward his waist.
“Do it,” Alejandro whispered. “See what happens to her.”
Camila stepped between them. “Enough.”
She looked at both men. “This ends tonight. No more stalking. No more threats. You want me, Alejandro? Then speak. But I will not be hunted.”
Alejandro studied her.
“You’ve changed.”
“I had to.”
His voice dropped. “I’ll give you one week. Come back willingly, and no one dies.”
She stared at him.
“And if I don’t?”
He smiled. “Then I start taking things away. Piece by piece.”
Then he walked away.
---
A Broken Calm
Later that night, Camila and Rodrigo sat on the hotel balcony. The city sparkled beneath them.
“He won’t stop,” Rodrigo said. “You know that.”
Camila nodded. “He’s giving me a week.”
Rodrigo stood up. “Then we leave. Vanish again. I’ll create new IDs. New plans. You don’t have to face him—”
“I do.”
Rodrigo looked at her, broken. “Why?”
“Because he won’t stop until I either kneel or destroy him.”
Rodrigo clenched his fists. “And what about us?”
Camila walked to him, placing her hands on his chest.
“If I walk away now, we’ll never be safe. Ever. But if I face him — on my terms — then maybe we have a chance.”
Rodrigo’s voice was hoarse. “And if he kills you?”
“Then you live. And remember I didn’t run.”
---
A Plan of Fire
Camila didn’t sleep that night.
She sat at her desk, sketching something different — not a dress, but a plan.
A stage.
A trap.
She had one week.
And if Alejandro wanted the girl he once controlled, he would have to meet the woman she had become.
One who wore fire like armor.
One who was no longer his.
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Price of Secrets
Milan – Day One of the Deadline
The morning after the show, Camila woke not to the sound of alarms, but to the eerie calm of dread. A week — that’s what Alejandro had promised. Seven days to surrender.
Or lose everything.
Rodrigo had already left their suite. She found a note scrawled in his rushed handwriting:
> Meeting someone. Be careful. I love you — R.
She tucked the note into her journal, then dressed in black — not to mourn, but to fight. There would be no more running. Not again.
---
Rodrigo’s Gamble
Rodrigo sat at a small café in the outskirts of Milan, watching the door like a hawk. He wore sunglasses and a long coat, but the anxiety betrayed his cool.
A man finally entered — older, olive-skinned, with a faint scar over his left brow.
“Dante,” Rodrigo said under his breath.
Dante Moretti. Alejandro’s cousin. The outcast of the family. A smuggler. An informant. And the only one Rodrigo trusted enough to risk meeting.
Dante sat, sipping espresso. “You look tired.”
Rodrigo’s voice was hard. “He’s here. He threatened her.”
Dante raised a brow. “Alejandro doesn't threaten. He warns. Then he acts.”
Rodrigo leaned forward. “I need leverage.”
Dante paused. “You want me to betray my blood?”
“He’s not your blood anymore. He cut you out.”
“Still.” Dante looked down at his drink. “There’s a difference between exile and treason.”
Rodrigo hesitated, then pulled a flash drive from his pocket. “I have copies of your old ledgers. Routes. Names. Everything the feds would love.”
Dante chuckled. “You’d blackmail me?”
“No. I’m showing you what I’m willing to burn.”
Silence stretched.
Then Dante said, “There’s something you need to know. About Camila.”
Rodrigo’s pulse jumped. “What?”
But Dante shook his head. “Not here. Meet me at midnight. Via San Giorgio. Bring no one.”
And he walked away.
---
Camila’s Strategy
Camila met with her legal team at noon, pacing the floor of a rented studio space. She wasn’t there for fashion.
She was there for firepower.
“Set the trust under Rodrigo’s name. If anything happens to me, he inherits the brand, the patents, everything,” she said.
Her lawyer blinked. “That’s… drastic.”
Camila stared. “So is being hunted by a Mafia boss I was once betrothed to.”
Silence.
Her assistant entered, holding a sealed envelope. “This came for you. No return address.”
Camila opened it cautiously.
Inside: a single photo.
Her mother.
Dead.
Lying in a shallow grave.
On the back, scrawled in red ink:
> Seven days means seven pieces. One is buried. Six remain.
Camila dropped the photo. Her legs almost gave way.
Alejandro had escalated.
---
Flashback: Four Years Ago
Camila had never told Rodrigo everything. Not the full truth.
Not how the engagement happened.
Not how Alejandro claimed her not out of love, but debt.
She had been sixteen, mourning her mother’s overdose in their crumbling Mexico City home. Her father had already vanished — likely killed for unpaid debts.
The night before the engagement, Alejandro had shown up uninvited. He was only eighteen, already wrapped in power and danger.
“You’ll be mine,” he’d said.
“I’m not for sale,” she whispered.
His answer had been cruel. “You already were.”
She never forgot the look in his eyes that night.
Not violent. Not romantic.
Possessive.
---
Midnight Meeting
Rodrigo arrived at Via San Giorgio just before midnight, heart pounding.
Dante was already there, leaning against a car.
“You came alone?” Dante asked.
Rodrigo nodded. “Tell me what I need to know.”
Dante exhaled smoke. “Alejandro didn’t just want Camila. He chose her.”
Rodrigo frowned. “What does that mean?”
“She wasn’t a random betrothal. He hunted her. Researched her family for years. Her mother used to run errands for the Morettis. Her father… well, he stole from them.”
Rodrigo’s mind reeled.
“So what? He married the daughter to get revenge?”
“No,” Dante said quietly. “To protect her.”
Rodrigo blinked. “What?”
Dante continued. “There was a bounty on her family. Alejandro made the engagement a shield. A claim. She didn’t know. Neither did her mother. But the moment she ran… she lost the only thing keeping her alive.”
Rodrigo staggered back.
“He was protecting her?”
“In his own twisted way. But now? It’s not about safety anymore. It’s about pride.”
Rodrigo looked away, anger and confusion battling inside him.
“And you’re telling me this why?”
Dante lit another cigarette. “Because I’m tired of watching people die for secrets.”
---
The Letter
Camila wrote a letter that night.
To Alejandro.
She kept it short:
> You want me back? Meet me in Venice. Alone. No guards. No tricks. If you still believe in oaths, come and face the woman I’ve become — not the girl you crushed.
I won’t run. But I won’t kneel.
— Camila
She didn’t mail it.
She sent it with a rose.
Hand-delivered.
Let him think about what kind of war he was truly waging.
---
Rodrigo’s Decision
When Rodrigo returned to the suite, he found Camila sitting by the window, red wine untouched, face calm.
He dropped into the chair across from her. “I talked to Dante.”
Camila looked at him. “And?”
“I know everything now.”
She didn’t blink. “Then you know why I ran.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“Do you hate me?” she asked quietly.
He leaned forward. “I love you. But I hate that you went through that alone.”
She closed her eyes.
“I didn’t want you to see how dirty it really was.”
He took her hand. “I want to see all of it. No more secrets. No more lies. We’re in this together.”
She kissed him then, not out of passion, but pain.
A silent vow.
Whatever happened in Venice, they would face it side by side.
- Writer
