Chapter Four: The Name That Changed Everything
794 Words
Elena didn’t sleep.
Again.
She sat on the edge of Luca’s bed, the city lights bleeding through the glass walls of his penthouse. The events of the night replayed in her mind—the gunshots, the adrenaline, the way Luca had looked at her afterward.
Like she wasn’t just a stranger anymore.
She hated that.
Luca stood by the kitchen counter, shirtless, pouring coffee like nothing had happened. His back was lined with faint scars, reminders of a life he never talked about.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s worse.”
She walked over, taking the cup from his hand. “You’re too calm after almost getting killed.”
He shrugged. “This wasn’t my first attempt.”
“That’s not comforting.”
He met her gaze. “It’s reality.”
She hesitated. “Who wants you dead?”
He didn’t answer immediately. “Everyone who wants what I have.”
She frowned. “And what do you have?”
He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Power.”
She exhaled slowly. “Figures.”
⸻
Later that day, Elena walked through the city alone.
She needed space. Luca’s world was closing in on her, and she didn’t like losing control.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Marco: You don’t know who you’re sleeping with.
Her stomach tightened.
Elena: Who is this?
Marco: A friend of Luca. And someone who knows you’re lying.
She stopped walking.
Elena: About what?
Marco: Your name. Your family. Your past.
Her fingers trembled.
Marco: Meet me. Piazza del Duomo. Now.
She considered ignoring it.
But curiosity had always been her weakness.
⸻
Marco was younger than Luca, with the same dark hair and sharp eyes, but his smile was colder.
“You’re Elena Vargas,” he said without greeting.
Her heart stopped.
“Don’t act surprised,” he continued. “Your mother is one of the most powerful cartel leaders in Latin America. Your family has been at war with the Moretti syndicate for fifteen years.”
Her chest tightened.
“So Luca doesn’t know?” she asked quietly.
Marco shook his head. “Not yet. But he will.”
She swallowed. “Why tell me?”
He leaned closer. “Because when he finds out, he’ll have to choose. And the Morettis don’t choose love over blood.”
She laughed bitterly. “Neither do the Vargas.”
“Exactly.”
She walked away, her mind spinning.
⸻
That evening, Luca found her on his balcony.
“You disappeared,” he said.
“I needed air.”
He stepped beside her. “Marco told me you went to see him.”
Her pulse quickened. “He did?”
“He’s paranoid.”
She met his gaze. “Maybe he’s smart.”
Luca studied her face. “What did he tell you?”
She hesitated.
This was it.
Truth or lie.
She chose truth.
“He knows who I am.”
Luca stiffened. “What does that mean?”
She took a deep breath. “My name isn’t Elena.”
Silence.
“My real name is Elena Vargas.”
The city seemed to go quiet.
Luca’s expression changed—shock, recognition, then something darker.
“Vargas,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
“The Vargas cartel?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her like she had pulled a g*n on him.
“You’re her daughter.”
“Yes.”
He stepped back, as if the truth physically pushed him away.
“How long did you know who I was?” he asked.
“I didn’t. Not until Marco told me.”
He laughed once, harshly. “Of course Marco told you.”
She reached for him. “Luca—”
“Don’t.”
His voice was cold now.
“You lied to me.”
“I was protecting myself.”
“You were protecting your family.”
She shook her head. “I was protecting us.”
He looked at her like she was a stranger again.
“There is no us.”
Her chest tightened. “You don’t mean that.”
He stepped closer, eyes blazing. “My father died in a Vargas ambush. My uncle was tortured by your people. And you think there can be an us?”
She froze.
“I didn’t choose my family,” she whispered.
He laughed bitterly. “Neither did I. But we chose to fall for each other.”
She felt the weight of that.
⸻
Across the city, Elena’s mother poured a glass of wine, watching a live feed of Luca’s penthouse balcony.
She saw Luca step away.
She saw Elena’s face.
Pain.
Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.
“Good,” she murmured. “Now the real war begins.”
- Writer
