chapter 8

A single light flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows against the cold, concrete walls. The faint drip of water echoed in the otherwise silent room, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and rusted iron.

Valentina's wrists burned from the restraints, but pain was an old friend. A reminder that she was still alive. Still fighting.

She flexed her fingers, testing the steel cuffs. They didn't budge. Her captors knew what they were doing.

But so did she.

Dante wanted her broken. Helpless.

She would rather die.

Her pulse steadied as she shifted her weight, subtly loosening her joints. They thought she was trapped. Let them think that. The moment they slipped, she'd turn this room into a graveyard.

The scarred man—her tormentor—stood near the table, rolling a knife between his fingers. He hadn't spoken since Lorenzo's call, but she could feel his gaze on her.

Watching.

Waiting.

Valentina exhaled slowly, counting down the seconds.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then she moved.

---

She kicked her legs up, swinging with full force. The momentum sent her body twisting midair, the cuffs cutting into her wrists as she used them as leverage.

Her boot slammed into the man's wrist—

The knife clattered to the ground.

She didn't hesitate.

She hooked her legs around his neck, twisting with brutal precision. The man choked, stumbling backward, his balance breaking. His fingers clawed at her thighs, desperate to free himself—

But she didn't let go.

With every ounce of strength, she tightened her grip, cutting off his air.

The second man lunged.

Valentina saw him coming, saw the glint of a gun—

A gun.

She released her grip on the choking bastard just in time, dropping her weight to swing back. The other guard fired—

The bullet whizzed past her, embedding itself into the wall.

Adrenaline flooded her veins.

The scarred man collapsed, coughing violently, but she had bigger problems. The second attacker was already repositioning, gun aimed directly at her skull.

No escape.

Her stomach twisted as she braced for the shot—

But then, the door slammed open.

A single gunshot rang out.

The guard's body jerked, his chest exploding in red before he collapsed in a lifeless heap.

Silence.

Then—

Heavy boots. A slow, measured stride.

Valentina's head snapped toward the doorway.

And there he was.

Lorenzo De Luca.

His presence filled the room, dark and suffocating. His black coat billowed slightly as he stepped inside, a gun still smoking in his grip. His sharp, predatory gaze locked onto her, taking in every detail—her bound wrists, the bruises forming around her skin, the blood trickling from her lip.

His expression darkened.

Rage.

Lethal. Cold. Unforgiving.

"Let her down," he ordered.

The scarred man, still gasping for breath, wiped blood from his mouth. "Took you long enough," he rasped.

Lorenzo's eyes never left Valentina. "You have three seconds."

The man hesitated.

One.

Lorenzo raised his gun.

Two.

The man scrambled to obey, moving toward the chains.

Valentina exhaled as the cuffs finally loosened, her body collapsing forward. Strong arms caught her before she could hit the ground, pulling her against a solid, familiar heat.

Lorenzo.

For a moment, just a single breath, she let herself stay there. Let herself feel the warmth of his body, the steady, unshaken power in his grip.

Then she shoved him away.

"I had it handled," she muttered.

Lorenzo arched a brow, his gaze dropping to the blood smeared on her wrist. "Sure you did."

Heat burned her cheeks, but before she could snap back, he turned toward the scarred man.

"I should kill you for touching her," Lorenzo mused, his tone deceptively calm.

The man smirked, despite the blood in his mouth. "Then why don't you?"

Lorenzo tilted his head. "Because I need you to send Dante a message."

The man's smirk faltered. "What message?"

Lorenzo stepped closer, pressing the muzzle of his gun beneath the man's chin.

"That Valentina Rossi is mine."

Then—

Another gunshot.

Blood splattered across the wall as the man crumpled.

Lorenzo exhaled, lowering his gun. "Let's go."

Valentina swallowed hard, watching him.

She had seen many men kill before.

But no one did it like him.

Cold. Effortless. Absolute.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to slap him—

Or pull him closer.

Danger still loomed.

But tonight, she wasn't the one in chains.