Chapter Five: War Has a Price
724 Words
Elena didn’t leave Luca’s penthouse that night.
She stood on the balcony long after he went inside, the city wind tearing at her hair while her chest felt hollow. Every word he’d said replayed in her mind.
My father died in a Vargas ambush.
She had never known that.
Her phone buzzed.
Mamá: I see you told him.
Elena: How do you know everything?
Mamá: Because I taught you everything.
She closed her eyes.
Mamá: Come home. Now.
Elena: I’m not a child.
Mamá: You are when you fall in love with the enemy.
Elena stared at the message.
Love.
She hadn’t said it. But her mother had.
And that scared her more than anything.
⸻
Luca sat alone in the dark, staring at the city like it had betrayed him.
Marco stood by the door, arms crossed. “You should’ve known.”
“I didn’t,” Luca said flatly.
“She’s a Vargas.”
“She’s Elena.”
Marco scoffed. “That’s the problem. You’re seeing the girl, not the blood.”
Luca poured another drink. “What do you want?”
“You want honesty? Your council already knows. They want her gone.”
His hand tightened around the glass. “Gone how?”
Marco met his eyes. “Gone.”
Luca said nothing.
⸻
The next morning, Elena found Luca in his private office.
He didn’t look at her.
“Luca,” she said quietly.
“Don’t.”
She walked in anyway. “We need to talk.”
“We already did.”
“No, you talked. I listened.”
He finally looked up. His eyes were cold.
“You’re leaving Milan.”
Her heart dropped. “What?”
“I booked you a flight. Today.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“Yes, I do.”
She stepped closer. “Because you’re angry?”
“Because you’re a Vargas.”
She swallowed. “Because you’re scared.”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“You’re scared to feel something for someone you’re supposed to hate.”
He stood abruptly. “This is over.”
Her eyes burned. “You kissed me. You almost died with me. You don’t get to erase that.”
He walked toward her, stopping inches away.
“In my world, feelings get people killed.”
She met his gaze. “Then kill them.”
He stared at her, torn.
Then the door burst open.
Marco stepped in, his face tense. “Luca. Now.”
⸻
Minutes later, they were in the underground garage.
A body lay on the concrete floor.
One of the men from the ambush.
Dead.
A message carved into his chest.
VARGAS.
Elena stared in horror.
“I didn’t—” she whispered.
Luca’s eyes darkened. “Your mother did.”
He turned to her slowly. “She’s declaring war.”
She felt sick. “She’s using me.”
“Yes,” he said coldly. “And I’m letting her.”
She looked up. “What does that mean?”
He stepped closer, his voice low.
“It means you’re leaving Milan alive. Or staying and becoming a weapon.”
Her breath caught. “A weapon against who?”
He held her gaze.
“Against your own blood.”
⸻
That night, a private jet waited on the runway.
Elena stood at the stairs, suitcase in hand.
Luca stood beside her.
“This isn’t goodbye,” she said.
“Yes, it is.”
She shook her head. “You’re lying again.”
He didn’t answer.
She stepped closer, touching his hand. “You’re pushing me away because you’re afraid of what we could become.”
He looked at her, and for a moment, she saw the man from the café again.
The stranger under the storm.
“Go, Elena,” he whispered.
She hesitated, then climbed the stairs.
The jet door closed.
As the plane took off, Luca watched from the tarmac, his face unreadable.
Marco stepped beside him. “You did the right thing.”
Luca stared at the sky.
“Did I?” he murmured.
⸻
Thousands of miles away, Elena’s mother watched the jet’s trajectory on a screen.
She smiled slowly.
“Good,” she whispered. “Now the game begins.”
She turned to her men.
“Prepare the Vargas–Moretti war.”
- Writer
