(Isla's POV)
The moment Luciano said Viktor Kozlov was coming for me next, my knees almost gave out.
"What do you mean?" I whispered. "Why me? What do my parents have to do with this?"
Luciano didn't answer. He just turned sharply. "Follow me."
He moved so fast I had to run to keep up. The hallways felt colder now, like the truth was freezing the air. Guards rushed past us. The mansion shook with noise, but my whole world was laser-focused on one thing:
The night my parents died.
We reached a locked door at the end of a quiet hallway. Luciano typed a long code into the panel. The lock clicked.
He opened the door to a private office; dim lights, papers everywhere, a huge desk. He closed the door behind us.
Then he turned to me.
"This won't be easy, Isla."
My voice cracked. "Just tell me. I can't take the lies anymore."
Luciano walked to a drawer and pulled out a thick folder. It was old, edges worn, corners bent, the paper inside yellowed from time.
He placed it on the desk.
My heart pounded as he opened it.
The first page was a newspaper clipping.
WAREHOUSE FIRE KILLS TWO ARSON SUSPECTED.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The second page showed pictures of the burned building. Black walls. A roof caved in. Firefighters carrying covered bodies.
Luciano watched my face carefully. "This was the night they died."
My hands trembled as I turned the page.
Police reports.
Witness statements.
Photos I didn't want to see.
At the bottom of one page, in black letters:
Cause of death: severe burns. Bodies recovered. Identities confirmed.
My breath caught in my throat. I pushed the page away.
"No… no, this can't be real. Dad told me it was a car crash. He said"
"He lied to protect you," Luciano said quietly.
"Protect me from what?"
Luciano didn't blink. "From the truth."
I felt the room spin. My voice broke. "Why were my parents in a warehouse? Why would someone set it on fire?"
Luciano hesitated.
My chest tightened. "Tell me."
He finally said it.
"Because your parents didn't just work for the Virelli family…"
He looked straight into my eyes.
"…they stole from them."
My mouth fell open. "No. They wouldn't, they weren't like that"
"They didn't steal cash," Luciano said softly. "They stole information. Files. Evidence. Something Viktor wanted. Something the Virellis wanted. Something worth killing for."
Tears blurred my vision. "So my parents were criminals?"
"They were desperate," Luciano said. "They thought they could run away after stealing what they stole. They were wrong."
I shook my head. "I don't believe you. My parents loved me. They saved money for me. They"
"Isla." His voice softened. "Loving you and making mistakes are two different things."
My throat burned. "Did Antonio know?"
"Yes."
"So he lied to me too."
"Yes."
I pressed a hand over my eyes as tears fell. The pain hurt deep inside my chest, like a wound being ripped open.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?" I cried.
"Because you were a child," Luciano said. "Because Viktor wanted every Torres dead. And the only way to keep you safe was to make the world think you were gone too."
I stared at him, stunned. "Gone?"
He nodded. "The fire was so bad the bodies couldn't be fully identified. Antonio told everyone that all three of you died. It kept Viktor away."
"But if the world thought I died…" my voice broke, "then why is Viktor after me now?"
"Because someone told him the truth," Luciano said. "Someone told him you survived. Someone sent men to the wedding. Someone leaked your name."
I felt sick.
My hands curled into fists.
My whole life… every birthday, every smile, every choice… was built on lies.
I looked up at Luciano, seeing something in his facepain, regret, memory.
"You said…" I whispered, "you said you know about the fire. How? Were you there?"
Luciano's jaw tightened. He turned his face slightly, revealing the long scar along his temple.
"I was there," he said quietly.
That sentence hit me harder than everything else.
I stared at his scar. "How?"
"I was nineteen," he said. "Your father and mother were supposed to meet someone that night. I followed them because something felt wrong."
My breath stilled.
"I arrived moments before the explosion."
My stomach dropped.
"When I got inside," Lorenzo continued, voice tight, "the whole place was burning. The ceiling was falling. I tried to reach the back room. I tried to get to them."
His hands curled into fists.
"But I failed."
He swallowed hard, eyes dark with memory.
"I dragged two bodies out. But it was too late."
A sob escaped from my throat.
Luciano looked away as if ashamed. "I should've done more."
I wiped my tears with shaking hands. "Luciano… you tried. You actually tried. That means something."
"No," he said. "It doesn't. Not to me."
I stepped closer, my heart breaking for him. "You saved me."
He didn't move.
He didn't blink.
His eyes locked with mine.
And for the first time, I saw the boy he used to be. The boy who ran into fire. The boy who failed and never forgave himself.
"No," Luciano whispered, his voice low and rough, "I've been too late to save anyone in my life."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Which is why I'm not going to let Viktor Kozlov kill you…"
My breath froze.
"…like he killed my father."