“You are not a victim here, Elena,” Matthew added, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver down her spine. “You are an asset. Now go get cleaned up.”
The Blueprint of Revenge
The guest room was larger than the entire apartment Elena had shared with Patricia. It featured a king-sized bed with silk sheets, a fireplace that was already crackling with warmth, and an attached bathroom with a deep soaking tub.
After a hot bath that washed away the mud but couldn’t erase the ache in her bones, a quiet doctor arrived, treated the bruise on her cheek with a soothing salve, and left without asking a single question. On the bed, Mrs. Gable had left a simple, elegant set of silk pajamas and a heavy velvet robe.
Elena couldn’t sleep. She sat by the window, watching the rain beat against the glass, her mind racing. She was safe from Patricia, safe from Becerra, but she had stepped into the den of a tiger. Everyone in Washington state knew the name Carranza. They were old money, shipping tycoons, and heavily rumored to control the underground logistics of the entire Pacific Northwest. Matthew Carranza was the ruthless new patriarch of that family.
The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving behind a crisp, gray dawn. Mrs. Gable brought Elena a tray of breakfast and a garment bag containing a beautifully tailored, dark green wool dress that fit her perfectly.
“Mr. Carranza is waiting for you in the library,” the older woman said with a small, encouraging smile. “Eat first, child. You’ll need your strength.”
When Elena entered the library, she found Matthew standing before a wall of books, holding a manila folder. The morning light filtered through the large windows, catching the sharp lines of his tailored charcoal suit.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to a leather armchair.
Elena sat, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. “What do you mean when you say I’m an asset?”
Matthew tossed the folder onto the coffee table in front of her. It fell open, revealing surveillance photographs of Patricia, Oscar Becerra, and… her late father.
“Three years ago, your father’s company was used by Oscar Becerra to smuggle illicit cargo through the Port of Seattle,” Matthew explained, sitting opposite her, crossing his legs with effortless grace. “My brother, Julian, was the customs director who discovered it. Before he could file the report, his car was forced off a cliff on Route 9. The exact road where I found you last night.”
Elena gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “My father… my father wouldn’t do that. He was an honest man!”
