CHAPTER 98: 98

Zamiel walked into Camilo’s study and found him lost in thought, his gaze fixed blankly on the empty air ahead. His head rested lazily against the headrest of the couch, his expression unreadable.

Yet despite that practiced mask of calm, Zamiel could sense the turmoil beneath, especially after the incident at the New Year’s Eve party. Nix had woven a trap so intricate that it would take supernatural grace to escape it. Zamiel had grown up with that man; he had seen the fire in his eyes ignite, blaze, and die. But what he witnessed last night was something entirely different, something he couldn’t begin to understand.

"I won’t be wrong to say you brought this upon yourself," he said, settling into the seat across from Camilo.

Camilo narrowed his eyes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Why did you invite him to an event you organized knowing full well you wanted to keep them apart?"

"I didn’t invite him," Camilo scoffed.

Zamiel leaned back slightly. "Then that means he invited himself. Which means trouble. Did you cross paths with him recently, or...?"

"He came for Carmela’s painting."

"Let me guess then, he took it without asking?" Zamiel arched an eyebrow, and when Camilo gave a reluctant nod, his next question dropped a heavy, unseen tension into

Zamiel, who knew at least thirty percent of Nix’s true nature, understood one thing perfectly well: if Nix had gotten what he wanted, he wouldn’t have bothered to return, let alone throw direct bullets at Elisa and indirect ones at Camilo.

"Was the painting just a painting, or was there something more?" Zamiel asked quietly resting his back on the coach he was seated on.

Camilo hesitated before answering. "Carmela’s and Liam’s birth certificates were hidden in it."

The tension in the room began to unfold slowly, like a poisonous flower blooming in silence. The air grew heavier; even the ticking clock seemed to pause, unwilling to interrupt the storm that was gathering.

Zamiel blinked once, then leaned forward, his tone dripping with disbelief. "Mr. Camilo Soretto, are you by any chance mentally drained or should I perhaps arrange a quick check-up for your brain? Because please, enlighten me, why on earth would you hide your children’s birth certificates inside a painting?"

His eyes narrowed into sharp slits. "Now Carmela and Liam have certificates, but Elisa doesn’t. And to make it worse, you hid them. If only you had listened when I told you to go through with the plastic surgery, we wouldn’t be in this mess..."

"So what do you want me to do?" Camilo barked, his voice echoing through the study. Zamiel clenched his fists, resisting the strong urge to land a blow across his face.

"The deed’s already done," Camilo continued harshly. "The only thing I can think of now is sending Elisa far away from here."

Zamiel suddenly started laughing loud, a sarcastic laughter that cut through the thick air. Nothing about what Camilo said was funny, yet his tone dripped with mockery.

"Why is it that your stupidity increases every time you face a problem?" he sneered.

"Zamiel!"

"Don’t scream my name, Mr. Sorrento!" Zamiel snapped back, his anger finally spilling over after being bottled up for far too long. "Did it ever occur to you that the man you’re conspiring against isn’t a fool? We’re talking about Nix Dean, the ruler of the mafia dynasty. The same dynasty he bled, fought, and killed to command. The one he destroyed in minutes after becoming heir and could rebuild if he wished. And here you are, playing childish games with him."

He leaned closer, his tone sharp and deliberate. "Have you even stopped to think why he suddenly decided to take Elisa under his care? Or why did he give her the only property tied to the name of his beloved late wife?"

Camilo stared at him, speechless. This version of Zamiel, fierce, unrestrained, and blazing with fury was one he had never seen before. He was so used to the version that fooled his every command that he forgot about his identity as alpha three.

"Oh, you actually believe he’s so naïve that he wouldn’t suspect Elisa is his Carmela?" Zamiel’s voice was low but laced with disbelief. "Even though she’s forgotten everything and though her aura is different from what it used to be, you think an observant man like Nix wouldn’t notice? You think he hasn’t seen the uncanny resemblance between himself and Nyxella? The way that little girl runs around calling him ’father’? Do you still believe not even a seed of doubt has been sown in his chest?"

He let out a deep, weary breath.

"She still carries her old self," he continued. "Whether it’s in her face or her instincts you saw it at the party when she nearly killed Luciana. Her mind might have forgotten, but her body hasn’t. Carmela is a killing machine, and nothing you say will change that fact about her."

"No matter what, I won’t let my daughter ever go back to him," Camilo said firmly, his voice trembling with defiance.

The air between them thickened instantly with the aura of both men. One fueled by desperation, the other by restrained fury clashed in the confined space like two opposing storms. The tension grew heavier, darker, and almost tangible. It coiled through the room like smoke, wrapping around them with a sinister weight that could choke the breath out of anyone who dared to stand between them.

Zamiel’s jaw tightened as he took a step closer to Camilo, his gaze cutting through Camilo like a blade. "Then you’d better come up with a solution that ensures neither of us loses our head," he scoffed, his tone dripping with warning.

Without another word, he turned and stormed out, leaving the suffocating silence behind him along with a man who now understood the gravity of the enemy he had chosen to defy.

...

"Nix," Tomline called softly, his hand lingering on the doorframe after a gentle knock. He had knocked earlier with no response, and to his relief, the room wasn’t swallowed in darkness. A faint glow from the desk lamp revealed the outline of papers and a computer screen.

"Come in," Nix’s calm, measured voice replied, almost detached.

Tomline stepped inside, eyes scanning the room. Nix was absorbed in his work, surrounded by a chaotic yet precise array of documents, folders, and notes. One hand tapped methodically on the keyboard, while the other held a pen, hovering over a report as though ready to strike a point into existence. Despite the clutter, there was a surgical precision in his movements, an intensity that radiated authority and focus.

Tomline swallowed, unsure where to begin. Finally, he asked, "Are you really going to pass down the company to her?" His voice was low, but his curiosity and something more shone through. His fingers drummed nervously against his thigh, betraying a tension he could barely hide.

"Why do you ask?" Nix’s voice was calm, almost teasing, but his eyes flickered with an unreadable sharpness as he continued to type.

Tomline hesitated, weighing every word. "Actually... I have this thought. Don’t get me wrong, but... what if the person we buried wasn’t Carmela, and Elisa is? Everything can be faked in this world, and..."

Nix paused mid-motion, finally lifting his gaze. The faint hum of the computer and rustle of paper seemed to vanish as his sharp eyes met Tomline’s. The subtle twitch of an eyebrow encouraged him to continue.

"You believe she’s Carmela?" Nix asked, calm but deliberate, each word measured.

"Yes," Tomline said, voice tight, his fists clenching at his sides.

Nix leaned back slightly, studying him, his eyes cold and precise. "If she was Carmela, she would have tried to reach out to me, just like last time. That person could barely hold a paintbrush..."

Tomline’s heart quickened, his words spilling faster. "What if she lost her memory? I don’t know how to explain it... but it feels like there’s something you’re not seeing."

"Tomline, Carmela was sick," Nix replied evenly, but his gaze never wavered, piercing through Tomline as if scanning for flaws in his argument.

"Reports can be faked," Tomline shot back, urgency creeping into his voice. "I saw her bleed on different occasions, from her nose. It wasn’t normal." He leaned forward, gestures sharp and desperate, trying to imprint his conviction onto Nix’s inscrutable demeanor.

"And the child?" Tomline pressed, voice now urgent. "She has the same eyes as you. Also I researched it’s nearly impossible for adults with bone marrow cancer to get pregnant. So... how did she?" His voice faltered slightly, caught between fear and disbelief.

Nix finally raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but unmistakably attentive. "So, what are you saying?"

"She may be Carmela or maybe not, but there’s only one way to find out," Tomline said, his words dropping into the room like a stone in still water. He swallowed, steadying himself. "Back in school, we both had tattoos. She was scared you wouldn’t like it, so she requested it be small, hidden behind her ears the initials of your name. Let’s say everything else is a coincidence... but if Elisa has the same initials behind her ears... then what?"

Nix’s fingers paused above the keyboard. The faint clatter of papers seemed unnaturally loud. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, as eyes narrowed, weighing the impossibility, the likelihood, and the threat all at once. The room was thick with tension, the air heavy, almost suffocating.

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the computer and the faint scratch of the pen on paper. Tomline held his breath, heart hammering, awaiting a reaction from the man who never seemed rattled.

Then, slowly, and deliberately, the corner of Nix’s lips twitched. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk appeared, sharp and knowing. His voice, calm yet filled with unspoken intensity, finally broke the silence

"Then... we’d better check."

The weight of the words lingered, a promise and a warning all at once, and for the first time, Tomline realized just how dangerous it was to play with the truth of Elisa’s identity.