Page 46 of Marriage of Revenge

CHAPTER 22—ANTONIO

Scanning the message again,a hard frown sets on my face as we march towards the race's starting point.

I help you. You help Naomi. Your car has been tampered with. There's going to be sabotage on the road—they're planning to kill you.

What if it's not her? It could be a decoy. Could be a setup. Or worse, him. My ex-stepfather, always looking for ways to get under my skin. The man who taught me that loyalty burns as easily as flesh.

If he threatened Naomi, she might do whatever he wants. Hell, many would. She was the only one who made my mother laugh in those final days, who captured that light in her eyes before everything went dark.

With an hour left before the race kicks off, my mind races through possibilities, each one deadlier than the last. If that text says the truth, where could be that sabotage on the road? None of our informants mentioned that. Oh, we already took care ofchanging the first car because of the sabotage. But now, doubts linger. What if we missed something on the new car?

The road we're about to drive down isn't known for being forgiving. How many accidents have there always been? How many bodies buried in those curves that everyone pretends were just bad luck?

Maybe Isabella wants to watch me plunge to my death. Maybe that's her endgame. After all, wouldn't it be poetic - the Beast dying in flames again?

Will she even show up to watch?

And Naomi? How the fuck can I help her without showing my hand too early? Her father allowing this shit tells me the cracks in the Moretti empire run deeper than anyone realizes. They're part of the foundation itself.

Because Naomi's old man? He may play the loyal dog to my stepfather, but he's got a soft spot for his daughter that's going to get him killed.

My proof?

Last month's wire tap caught him in a heated exchange with Henrik. That German piece of shit was eager to climb the ladder, looking for allies. Especially since the auction kept on being pushed back.

But Naomi's father dismissed him with a scoff that probably cost him more than he knew, making it clear his daughter would have what others in our world never get: the power of choice. The power to choose her own husband.

He knew his position was fragile. Knew the ground beneath him was shifting. And still chose his daughter over safety.

"Did you double-check the car?" I snap at Franco. "Especially the brakes?"

Franco nods. "Just did. About ten minutes ago."

"And by 'we', you mean?" My voice could freeze hell itself. I foresaw complications - always do. Switching the car was justthe start. We even set up a secondary router knowing they'd try to cut our internet during the hacking challenge.

Always on defense. Always three steps ahead. Always ready.

"Go over it again," I order, watching Franco's face for any hint of hesitation. While I wait, I send a text back. Direct. To the point.

Send me a video of you. And tell me the one thing you made me promise never to tell your father. That's all I need to trust this.

Within moments, my request is met. I press play.

The video is crystal clear, sharp enough that I swear I can catch a whiff of honeysuckle through the screen. Her eyes are sad and yet, somehow manage to carry an undeniable fire within. It's a strength that shouldn't send a spark of desire through me, but it does. Just like the vivid recollection of her lips softening under mine, her body yielding in surrender.

A tension settles in the base of my neck, making me rub it as I focus on her voice.

"The heart locket we stumbled upon... The one with my mother's picture where half was cut away. The one with 'Per Sempre' engraved underneath. I kept it because there was a man's hand around her shoulder, but the rest of him was cut from the photo. Not my father's hand - the ring was different. Satisfied? I kept it from him, and you, in your own twisted sense of loyalty, did the same."

The truth? I had informed him. I had thrown those words at him like weapons—hoping, dreaming, wanting to crush him. But he was already in the know.

She continues, "Promise you'll help Naomi. Promise me, Maestro."

Maestro. That nickname in her voice hits me like a bullet I wasn't ready for, stirring shit I thought I'd buried with my mother's memories.

It's just a damn video. Pixels on a screen. Yet my finger hovers over the replay button while my other hand itches to smash the phone. Both urges equally stupid, equally dangerous.

Franco's voice cuts through my bullshit, sharp with urgency. "There's a problem with the car." He's surrounded by our crew, their faces carved with tension.

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