chapter three
1559 Words
The drive home was unusually quiet.
Elena sat in the passenger seat, staring through the window as the city passed by in a blur of buildings, cars, and afternoon sunlight.
Marco kept both hands on the steering wheel.
He hadn't said another word since they left the café.
That bothered her more than his warning.
“You're being strange.”
Marco glanced at her.
“I'm always strange.”
“Not like this.”
He sighed.
“Elena, I just want you to be careful.”
“Of Lorenzo?”
“Yes.”
She turned toward him.
“Why?”
Marco's jaw tightened.
“Because men like him don't enter people's lives without a reason.”
Elena frowned.
“Men like him?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don't.”
Marco remained silent.
Elena studied his face.
“You're acting like you know something.”
“I don't.”
“You're lying.”
He looked at her briefly.
“I'm not.”
“You're terrible at lying.”
A faint smile appeared on Marco's face.
“You've always been too observant.”
“Maybe I learned from you.”
The smile disappeared.
Marco returned his attention to the road.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Promise me you'll stay away from him.”
She hesitated.
“I can't promise that.”
“Why?”
“Because I barely know him.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn't mean he's dangerous.”
Marco's expression hardened.
“You don't know what he's capable of.”
Elena stared at him.
“Neither do you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Marco didn't answer.
And that silence told her more than an argument could have.
---
That evening, Elena stood in front of her bedroom mirror, brushing her hair while thinking about the conversation.
She couldn't understand Marco's reaction.
He had always been protective, but this was different.
He hadn't simply disliked Lorenzo.
He had been afraid of him.
And that made Elena curious.
She picked up her phone.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
Unknown: You should listen to your brother.
Elena stared at the screen.
Her stomach tightened.
She typed:
Elena: Who is this?
No answer.
She waited.
Nothing.
She deleted the message.
Then she locked her phone.
Maybe it was some stupid prank.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been watching her.
---
Across the city, Lorenzo sat in the back of a black car.
Matteo was beside him, scrolling through his phone.
“The man across from the café wasn't one of ours.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“Who was he?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Find out.”
Matteo nodded.
“There is something else.”
Lorenzo waited.
“Marco Rossi.”
“What about him?”
“He's not exactly what he appears to be.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
“How much do you know?”
“Not enough.”
Matteo handed him a file.
Lorenzo opened it.
There were photographs.
Bank records.
Company registrations.
Names he recognized.
Nothing directly connected Marco Rossi to the underground.
But there were gaps.
Too many gaps.
Lorenzo closed the file.
“Keep investigating.”
Matteo watched him.
“You're interested in Elena.”
Lorenzo didn't answer.
“That means her family matters.”
“I said investigate.”
“I heard you.”
The car became quiet.
After a moment, Lorenzo looked out the window.
He could already feel the situation becoming complicated.
He didn't like complications.
Especially ones involving Elena.
---
The next morning, Elena arrived at the art studio earlier than usual.
She needed something to occupy her mind.
She set up her paints, opened the windows, and put on music.
For the next several hours, she painted.
Slowly, the world disappeared.
The blank canvas became a sunset.
Then a street.
Then a woman standing alone beneath a balcony.
Elena stepped back.
Something was missing.
She dipped her brush into another color.
Before she could touch the canvas, the door opened.
Sofia walked in carrying two cups of coffee.
“You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“Marco?”
Elena sighed.
“Lorenzo.”
Sofia's eyebrows rose.
“Ah.”
“He told me to stay away from him.”
“That's probably sensible.”
Elena stared at her.
“You too?”
Sofia placed the coffee down.
“Elena, I like you alive.”
“Why does everyone act like he's some kind of criminal?”
Sofia paused.
“Maybe because of the rumors.”
“The rumors aren't proof.”
“I know.”
Elena returned to her painting.
“Something about him doesn't make sense.”
“What?”
“He seems…” She searched for the right word. “Different.”
Sofia smiled.
“Different how?”
“I don't know.”
“That sounds suspiciously like you're interested.”
Elena gave her a look.
“I'm not.”
“You're thinking about him.”
“I am not.”
“You're painting again.”
Elena looked at the canvas.
She froze.
The woman in the painting wasn't alone anymore.
Behind her stood the faint outline of a man dressed in black.
Sofia noticed.
“Oh.”
Elena quickly put down her brush.
“I didn't mean to paint that.”
Sofia stared at the canvas.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
For some reason, Elena didn't like the feeling it gave her.
She turned away.
---
That afternoon, Lorenzo arrived at the same gallery where they had first met.
He wasn't there for an exhibition.
He was meeting someone.
A man in his forties stood near the back entrance.
“You came alone?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“Your father used to bring three men with him.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“My father isn't here.”
“No.”
The man looked around.
“That's exactly why things are changing.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“What do you want?”
“There are people asking questions.”
“About?”
“You.”
Lorenzo remained silent.
“And about the woman.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What woman?”
The man smiled faintly.
“Don't insult me.”
Lorenzo's voice became colder.
“Say her name.”
“Elena Rossi.”
Silence.
The man's smile disappeared.
“You need to understand something. The moment people realize you care about someone, they will use it.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“They won't touch her.”
“You can't guarantee that.”
“I can.”
The man shook his head.
“That's exactly what your father used to say.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
The mention of his father was enough.
“Leave.”
The man didn't move.
“Lorenzo—”
“I said leave.”
The man finally walked away.
Lorenzo remained standing there.
His phone rang.
Matteo.
He answered.
“What?”
“We found something.”
“Tell me.”
“Marco Rossi isn't just a businessman.”
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“What is he?”
“We're still confirming it.”
A pause.
“But Lorenzo…”
“What?”
“His family has connections to the underground.”
Lorenzo looked toward the entrance.
For the first time, something about Elena's family made sense.
Her brother's warning.
His reaction at the café.
The secrecy.
The strange gaps in the records.
Maybe Marco wasn't protecting Elena from Lorenzo.
Maybe he was protecting her from something else.
---
That night, Elena couldn't sleep.
She walked downstairs for water and noticed the lights in the living room.
Marco was there.
He stood beside the window, speaking quietly on the phone.
Elena stopped before entering.
“I told you I'm not doing this anymore,” he said.
A pause.
His expression hardened.
“No. Elena has nothing to do with this.”
Elena's heart began beating faster.
She stepped backward.
The floor creaked.
Marco turned.
Their eyes met.
He immediately ended the call.
“Elena?”
She stared at him.
“Who were you talking to?”
“No one.”
“You're lying again.”
Marco walked toward her.
“Go back upstairs.”
“What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
Marco's face softened.
“Because you're my little sister.”
“That's not an answer.”
He looked away.
“Elena, there are things about our family you don't understand.”
Her heart sank.
“What things?”
Marco said nothing.
“Marco.”
He finally looked at her.
“Some things are better left unknown.”
Elena stared at him.
She wanted to demand an explanation.
Instead, she walked upstairs.
But she didn't go back to bed.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, thinking about his words.
There are things about our family you don't understand.
Across the city, Lorenzo stood in front of his own window with a similar thought running through his mind.
The Rossi family was hiding something.
And somehow, Elena Rossi was standing directly in the middle of it.
Neither of them knew it yet.
But the secrets surrounding their families had already begun pulling them closer together.
And somewhere in the darkness, Damiano Vitale was waiting.
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