The Sicilian sun warms my face as I exhale deeply, taking in the intoxicating mix of Mediterranean air and fresh garlic from the nearby kitchen. Sitting across from me at the quaint sidewalk café, Mel fidgets with her wine glass, her floral sundress catching the afternoon breeze. The cobblestone streets around us buzz with life, tourists and locals alike weaving through the narrow passages between centuries-old buildings.

Thomas is recovering well – he'll be discharged tomorrow. It's hard to believe two weeks have passed since that terrifying night at the hospital. Those same two weeks have been filled with morning texts from Rafael, each one making my heart skip despite my best efforts to stay detached. Every day, without fail, he shares his plans, his thoughts, his day – as if trying to include me in a life, I'm not sure I should want. It's endearing in a way that makes my resolve weaken, but tomorrow's conversation will change everything. I've been running from this moment, but time has finally caught up with me.

Melina's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Earth to sis?" She leans forward, her gold pendant – catching the light. "You've been staring at your pasta for five minutes straight. What's going on in that head of yours?"

I smooth down my white linen blouse, buying time. "I'm moving to Mexico," I say finally, watching her blue eyes, similar to mine, widen. The truth about Rafael sits heavy on my tongue, but I can't bring myself to explain how a man I barely know has such a claim on my future – how his threat of war against the Costanzos leaves me with choices that don't feel like choices at all.

"Mexico?" She sets down her fork with a soft clink. "Why there, of all places?"

"I found a teaching position," I say, grateful for this piece of truth to cling to. "After everything... I need a fresh start. Somewhere new." The excitement of returning to teaching flutters in my chest, a bright spot in all this complexity.

"But Sicily could be your fresh start," she pleads, gesturing to the beautiful chaos around us. "This could be your home, too."

I reach across the checkered tablecloth and take her hand, feeling the familiar softness of her skin. "Sicily is your story now, Mel. I've found... something else in Mexico." My thoughts drift to Daniel's warm laugh, Pedro's protective nature, Miguel's quick wit, Julio's wisdom, and Carla's fierce loyalty – a family I never expected to find.

Melina's lower lip trembles. "It feels like you're leaving me behind," she whispers, and I see the little girl I've always protected peeking through.

"Hey," I squeeze her hand tighter, my own eyes stinging. "You're my sister. My blood. Nothing – not oceans, not countries, not anything – will ever change that. I love you more than life itself."

She sniffles, mascara smudging slightly as she wipes her eyes. "I love you too, you big dummy." The nickname makes us both laugh through tears.

"When?" she asks, composing herself.

"Tomorrow," I admit softly, settling back in my chair.

"God, that's so soon." She shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing. "I'm going to miss you so much it hurts."

"Me too, sis. Me too." I manage a watery smile, picking at the remains of my linguine.

My phone buzzes against the table, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. The message glows ominously on my screen, making my heart stutter:

"You need to warn him! Those closest to him shouldn't be trusted_C."

My fingers tighten around the phone as I read it again and again, the bustling café atmosphere suddenly feeling distant. A chill runs down my spine despite the warm Sicilian afternoon. Who needs to be warned? Rafael? The cryptic signature – C – tugs at something in my memory. The last time I received messages like this was when my father was alive, working with someone in the shadows. Could this be the same person? The same mysterious ally who...?

My head spins with possibilities. Glancing at Melina across the table, peacefully enjoying her lunch, I'm grateful she at least has closure - even if it came from my lie about our father dying in prison. Her reaction – tears of relief mixed with lingering anger – had mirrored my own. Thank God she never learned the truth.

A waiter passes by with a tray of espressos, the rich aroma barely registering as my thoughts race. God, I wish my father was still alive if only to answer the thousand questions burning in my mind. Rafael's investigation into his mysterious partner had hit dead end after dead end, and something tells me that person isn't finished playing their games. The timing couldn't be worse – Rafael's cartel is still licking its wounds from the war with Thomas, their resources stretched thin, their allies cautious.

I catch my reflection in a nearby window and barely recognize the worry in my own eyes. What am I doing? Heat rises to my cheeks as I realize I'm sitting here fretting about Rafael's cartel like I'm still part of his world. The same man who betrayed my trust, who turned my life upside down, and here I am, worried about whether he can afford another war. I press my fingertips to my temples, trying to sort out the mess of emotions churning inside me.

"Is everything alright, sis?" Melina's concerned voice cuts through my spiral. She's leaning forward, her fork paused halfway to her mouth, marinara sauce dripping slowly back to her plate. The genuine worry in her expression makes guilt twist in my gut – here I am, keeping even more secrets from her.

"Yeah," I manage, forcing a smile as I lock my phone screen with slightly trembling fingers. I turn back to my half-eaten lunch, the once-delicious pasta now tasting like cardboard. The mysterious message burns in the back of my mind like a hot coal, but I force myself to focus on Melina's face, on memorizing every detail of this last lunch with my sister. The questions, the warnings, the tangled web of cartels and secrets – they'll have to wait. For now, I just want to be a sister having lunch in Sicily, pretending the world isn't about to shift beneath my feet again.

RAFAEL

The morning sun glints off the pool's surface as I nurse my coffee, waiting for Luca to get the car ready. Frankie's coming home today. Two weeks without her has been hell on earth—and that's saying something, coming from someone like me.

Following Julio's advice, I've been texting her about my day. She never replies, but I notice she reads them at precisely the same time every morning and night. Like clockwork—that's my Frankie, precise even in her anger. My little rebel is pissed about what she thinks was a betrayal of trust. If only she knew I didn't betray her, and the fucker responsible is dead.

"The car is ready, sir." Luca's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I lock my phone and stand, methodically buttoning my Tom Ford suit, the fabric smooth against my skin.

I walk through the exit and toward the car. Just as I'm about to step in, I spot Pedro approaching and pause. It's amusing how everyone in the house is competing for who's most excited about Frankie's return. My money's on Danny—the kid's been counting the days until his aunt Frankie returns.

But it's not that simple. Frankie only agreed because I promised to end my vendetta against Thomas—a promise I intend to keep, regardless. I just needed her to listen to me. Once she does, she'll understand my perspective. She has to.

"A word, son," Pedro says. I nod, stepping away from the car, the gravel crunching under my Italian leather shoes.

"Julio mentioned you plan to talk things out with Frankie instead of forcing her to stay." I don't comment on their gossiping about me like old women at a market.

"Do you also plan to tell her your story? Why you really sent her away?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. Truth is, I haven't thought that far ahead. My focus has just been on clearing the air about James. I know I could have sent it over the phone, but I wanted her to be here while I say it so I could also convince her some other way to be with me, even with me seeming to choose my revenge over her.

"You need to, son. She needs to understand you. That's the only way she can fully love you."

I release a heavy sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I don't think so, Pedro. Once she knows my past, she'll leave. No woman would want to be with someone who has a past like mine."

"That's bullshit. Anyone with a brain would understand you didn't know have a choice."

"True, but what if it makes her look at me differently?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. "I don't think I can fucking handle that." I might show an unflinching facade to the world, but I'm human, and Frankie... she moved something in my caged heart. The thought of her looking at me with horror or pity because of my past pierces something deep inside me.

"She won't. Frankie isn't like that. Tell her your story. She deserves to know."

"I'll think about it," I concede, not fully convinced but unwilling to dismiss his wisdom entirely.

"Good. Now go bring her home." He claps me on the back, and I nod before sliding into the car's leather interior.

Inside, I have to call Luca's name three times before he snaps out of whatever trance he's in. He's been distracted since recovering from the bullet wound Thomas's second gave him. Something's off with him, but I can't put my finger on what.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbles, finally focusing. The engine purrs to life as we pull out of the driveway onto Mexico City's streets. For a few minutes, everything feels normal—the familiar rhythm of the city, the morning traffic flowing around us. Then, something catches my attention.

This isn't the route to the airport.

"Luca," I lean forward, frowning, "where the fuck are you going?" The question barely leaves my mouth when I feel a sharp sting in my neck.

"What the—" I slap my hand to the sting and jerk my head to the side, only to find a stranger crouched in my truck. How long have they been here?

The thought dissolves as my vision blurs, darkness creeping in from the edges. My last conscious thought is of Frankie, waiting for me at the airport. Then everything goes black.