Chapter 13
The air crackled with tension.
Valentina stood at the edge of Lorenzo's private estate, staring into the darkened horizon, her mind a battlefield of conflicting thoughts. The night breeze was cool against her skin, but inside—inside, she burned.
Dante was alive. For now. But keeping him breathing was a calculated risk.
A risk she wasn't sure would pay off.
She heard Lorenzo before she saw him—his footsteps were smooth, unhurried, like a predator confident in his kill.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured from behind her.
Valentina didn't turn. "And you don't think enough."
A chuckle. "Oh, I think. About a lot of things."
She braced herself as he moved closer, his presence pressing into her back, his breath warm against her neck.
"Like what?" she challenged.
His fingers brushed her wrist.
"You."
Valentina exhaled sharply. "Don't start."
"I didn't," he murmured. "You did."
His fingers skimmed her waist, light but possessive. A taunt. A test.
She should push him away.
She didn't.
Instead, she turned, chest brushing his.
"Are you trying to distract me?" she asked.
His smirk was dangerous. "Is it working?"
Yes.
She hated that it was.
Before she could respond, a sharp buzz broke the moment.
Lorenzo pulled out his phone, his expression darkening as he read the message.
His jaw clenched.
"What?" Valentina demanded.
He met her gaze, and for the first time, she saw something different in his eyes.
Rage.
"Someone attacked my shipment," he said.
Her stomach tightened. "Who?"
Lorenzo exhaled through his nose. "Dante's people wouldn't be this bold. Which means…"
He didn't have to finish the sentence.
They both knew.
The real enemy was making their move.
---
Thirty minutes later, Valentina and Lorenzo were in his underground war room, a massive space lined with monitors, weapons, and a long mahogany table where his men gathered.
A grainy security feed showed a dockyard—one of Lorenzo's key shipping hubs. Smoke curled from the ruins of what used to be a storage facility.
Whoever did this had sent a message.
Lorenzo leaned forward, hands braced against the table. "Any casualties?"
His second-in-command, Matteo, nodded grimly. "Three men dead. Two more wounded."
Valentina crossed her arms. "And no one saw anything?"
Matteo hesitated. "There was… one survivor."
Lorenzo's head snapped up. "Where is he?"
Matteo glanced at the door. "Waiting outside. But there's something else."
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed. "Spit it out."
Matteo swallowed. "He said they left a message. For you."
The room went deadly silent.
Valentina and Lorenzo exchanged a look.
"Bring him in," Lorenzo ordered.
A moment later, a bloodied man staggered inside. His face was bruised, his breathing ragged.
But his eyes… his eyes were filled with terror.
Lorenzo stepped forward. "Who did this?"
The man swallowed hard. "I—" He coughed, his body shaking. "I don't know. They moved fast. Professional. But they—"
He hesitated.
Valentina's patience snapped. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. "But what?"
The man shuddered. "They said… they said to tell you something."
Lorenzo's expression was carved from stone. "What?"
The man's next words sent ice down Valentina's spine.
"They said, 'Tell De Luca and Rossi they're already dead. They just don't know it yet.'"
A beat of silence.
Then—
Lorenzo's fist slammed into the table, making the entire room jolt.
"Who the fuck are we dealing with?" Valentina murmured.
No one had an answer.
But one thing was certain—whoever had made this move wasn't just another rival.
They were something else.
And they were coming.