Bound By Blood

Chapter 2: The offer

After his parents' death, Matteo Moretti didn’t cry on the plane.

He was 15, and boys who cried got killed in Blackwood.

Rosalinda sat beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding a passport that wasn’t his. She didn’t speak until they were over the Atlantic.

“Grief is useless,” she said. “Vengeance pays.”

Matteo stared at his hands. Still red. Still smelled like his father’s blood.

“Then teach me,” he said.

She did.

Blackwood was where the boy died.

London was where the man was built. Rosalinda had contacts, warehouses, and a name that opened doors, even those respected by the Commission. Wine imports, shipping, and construction.

By 21, Matteo ran everything.

By the age of 26, his empire stretched across the world. To him, money was power. Power was power and he had it. Didn't he enter the big offices of big companies and make the owners stand up holding their right hands to greet him immediately? Matteo had earned all that power himself. Nobody could stand against him.

He had everything except one thing: his parents' revenge. He had to clear that bad memory that had haunted him since he was 15. All that pain that had built up in him over the years was turned into anger every day. Anger towards the Santos. Rosalinda was always beside him. Supporting him. Now they were back to get their revenge. No turning back without getting it.

Rosalinda sat at the head of his table now, silver hair pulled tight, eyes sharper than any blade.

“They think we’re gone,” she said, pushing the photo across the desk. Peter Santos, marked in red. “They think time made us soft.”

Matteo picked up the photo.

Peter’s eyes were Maria’s.

“Ricardo spared me,” Matteo said mockingly. Voice flat. “I return the favor. One for one.”

“Yes,” Rosalinda said with a malicious smile. “You make it hurt. You take him where they can see. You kill him in front of the whole house. Let Blackwood remember what happens when you touch a Moretti.”

Matteo’s jaw ticked.

“Vega will call them at dawn,” he said. “Tell Ricardo he has until noon. Bring Peter to the drive. Or I come in.”

Rosalinda smiled. “Sharp. Very sharp.”

The Santos house hadn’t slept.

Ricardo sat in the study, whiskey in hand, staring at the rosary on the table as if it might bite him. Catherine paced behind him, heels clicking against wood that cost more than most cars.

Nina sat on the arm of the couch, filming the whole thing. For memories.

Peter stood in front of Elena. Always in front of Elena.

Elena sat on the floor. Back to the cabinet. Hands raw. She’d been scrubbing since 4 AM. Not because it was dirty. Because if she stopped, she’d scream.

“One year,” Catherine said suddenly. “That’s all it took.”

P

Ricardo didn’t look up.

“One year after Maria died, I married you,” she continued. “People think I married into Santos' money. They’re wrong.”

Elena’s head snapped up.

Catherine smiled at her. “Your father and I started before that. While Maria was still driving you to school. While she was still trusting me with her keys.”

Peter went still.

“Peter,” Catherine said, patting his cheek, “is Santos' blood. My firstborn. My insurance. Nina…” She glanced at her daughter. “Nina is Vance. My mistake. My second chance.”

So that was it.

Elena had always wondered why Nina looked nothing like her. Why Nina’s cruelty felt like it came from a different bloodline.

Because it did.

“You slept with my father while my mother was alive,” Elena said. Voice empty. "Dad, is this true? Y-you couldn't do this to mom!!"

Catherine shrugged. “She was weak. You are too.”

Peter stepped forward. “W-what are you saying mom. Shut up.”

Ricardo finally looked up. His eyes were red. “Enough.”

Nina laughed. “Oh, now you talk? After eleven years of whiskey and silence?”

Ricardo ignored her. He looked at Elena. Really looked.

Dark hair like Maria’s. Blue eyes like Maria’s. The same mouth that used to smile too wide.

He’d been avoiding it for twelve years.

“Elena,” he said. “Go upstairs.”

She didn’t move.

“Now,” he said harder.

She went.

"I was to keep the secret if this monster wasn't after my son." Catherine's voice echoed behind her.

Elena left. Fast. Crying.

Because if she stayed, she’d say something she couldn’t take back.

The dawn was terrifying at the Santos. As if something was about to happen. Infact it was happening.

Three black SUVs. No plates.

Vega got out first. Old. Scarred. He’d been at the villa that day Ricardo killed Luca and Isabella.

Ricardo stood on the porch. Catherine is beside him. Nina behind, phone up. Peter was beside Elena. There was silence.

“You know why we’re here,” Vega said.

Ricardo’s jaw clenched. “The boy isn’t—”

“Peter Santos,” Vega said, reading from his phone. “Age 23. Only heir. Don Moretti wants him.”

Peter stepped behind. “ Dad. Mom. Are they going to kill me?”

"No son. Don't worry. They won't take you." Catherine said. Her voice was almost breaking.

Nina was in tears. Elena was worried. Peter was the only person who cared for her in the house. He didn't deserve this.

Suddenly, Catherine grabbed Elena’s arm. Hard.

“Take her,” she said. “She’s Santos. Santos blood.”

Elena wrenched back. “You’re giving me to him?”

Ricardo wouldn’t look at her.

Vega’s phone buzzed. He answered. Put it on speaker.

Matteo’s voice filled the drive. Cold. Measured. Sharper than broken glass.

“Ricardo Santos. You have sixty seconds. Bring Peter to the drive. Or I bring the whole house down around you.”

Silence.

Catherine spoke first. “Take the girl."

Peter looked at his mother. Suprised.

Two of Vega’s men caught him.

Ricardo finally spoke. His voice was ash.

“I can’t give you Peter.”

Matteo was silent for two seconds. Then: “Then I take him, my way.”

“No,” Ricardo said quickly. “But I can give you something else. Something worth more.”

Vega’s eyes flicked to Elena.

Ricardo’s eyes followed.

He was looking at Elena.

Elena understood before anyone said it.

“No,” Elena said. “Dad, no.”

Ricardo stood straighter. “Elena Santos. My daughter. Maria’s daughter. She’s 21. She's my blood. Take her. She will end the blood feud, forever."

Matteo’s voice came back, slower.

“What are you offering, Ricardo?”

“I want peace,” Ricardo said. “You want balance. Take her. Spare Peter and let the blood feud end, forever."

Catherine smiled. “See? Practical.”

Nina clapped once. Wiping her tears “Smart, Daddy.”

Peter went for Ricardo. “You’re giving her to him to die!”

Vega’s men held him down.

Elena didn’t scream this time.

She looked at her father.

And saw nothing.

Not love. Not guilt. Just a man choosing the son who made him money.

Matteo was quiet for a long time.

Then: “Bring her out.”

Elena walked out. Matteo's men were beside her. She looked back. A place she once called home. The place her mother introduced as home. That place was gone now. Her father....had just sold her to the monster. She said nothing. She did nothing. She left with them.