The rain came down in a steady whisper, casting ripples across the puddles that gathered outside the Warehouse .
Inside the warehouse, everything was a contrast—sharp, calculated, and humming with danger.
Dante Salvadore stood near the opened back of a large van, its interior stacked with sealed cases. The transaction happening that time was smaller than the last, but no less significant. It wasn't about volume. It was about loyalty.
Lorenzo leaned in and whispered, "She's here."
Dante didn't respond at first. He simply closed the van door with a metallic thunk and turned.
"Man… Always a long night with tryna butter up Val."
Enzo chuckled and replied "I feel you."
A sleek, silver Mercedes pulled into the warehouse, its headlights slicing through the shadows. When the car stopped, the back door opened, and she stepped out.
Valentina .
Dressed in black leather and heels, she was elegance carved from steel. Her dark red lipstick matched the glint in her eyes—dangerous and deliberate. She walked toward Dante, her long coat flaring slightly behind her.
"Dan," she greeted, her voice smooth, sultry. "Still dealing in shadows?"
"Anytime, Anyday," he said.
They stood inches apart.
"Why am I here, really?" Valentina asked, folding her arms. "You don't need me to hand over a crate of designer poison."
Dante's lips curled slightly. "Because trust needs to be seen. Publicly."
She looked past him, at the silent crew loading the crates into a second van. "You're still building your empire. What happens when the foundation cracks?"
Dante leaned closer. "Then I find the ones cracking it—and bury them in the concrete."
Valentina laughed, not out of humor, but admiration. "You haven't changed."
"Neither have you. That's why we're both still breathing."
They walked side by side through the warehouse as Lorenzo oversaw the rearrangement of the remaining goods. Valentina's sharp gaze scanned everything—she noticed details most would miss: the modified VIN on the truck, the boot scuff marks near the second crate, the subtle red line painted near the exit to indicate a hidden weapon stash. She missed nothing.
"You still hide guards in the shadows?" she asked.
"I hide knives in smiles too," Dante replied.
They paused near the crates.
"You said this is new territory," Valentina murmured. "Is this a new war, or a new ally?"
Dante's eyes darkened. "Sometimes, they're the same."
Before Valentina could respond, Lorenzo returned. "We're clear. Dan"
Dante gave a nod .
"I should go home now."
Valentina raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you care about returning home early and moreover after doing business with me?"
"I've always done what I wanted to," he corrected. "And is there an issue?."
Valentina hesitated. For a heartbeat, something flickered across her face—an emotion softer than power or pride. Nostalgia, maybe. Pain. But then it was gone.
"Yeah I wanna stop by. I miss mother and I miss the house. You just dumped me. It doesn't mean we're enemies."
"Girl you were out there living your best life with men so what do you mean I dumped you. Literally freed you." Dante replied.
Valentina arches a brow at him and replied "Well we could go on and on about this in circles like we always do or you could invite me."
"Alright. One drink."
It was nearly 11 p.m. when Dante and Valentina pulled into the estate. The Salvadore mansion loomed ahead.
Dante's mother was in the sitting room. She wore a silk robe, her salt-and-pepper hair tied back neatly. When she saw Valentina step through the doorway, her eyes lit up.
"Val," she said, rising slowly from her armchair. "I was wondering if I'd ever see your face again."
Valentina gave a warm, practiced smile. "You look as graceful as ever, Mother."
"Sit, child. Sit. Let an old woman enjoy good company."
Valentina joined her on the antique couch, while Dante poured drinks at the bar. Whiskey for himself. Rosé for the ladies. He watched them from across the room, silently taking note of how easily Valentina fell back into place—laughing at his mom's jokes, gently holding her hands, complimenting her collection of imported shawls.
He almost forgot to keep his guard up.
Rose Cruz stood outside the Salvadore mansion gate. The rain had died down, replaced by a moody fog that clung to her coat. She was on her way when suddenly she stopped.
She squinted. The unknown woman had her hand on Dante's mom's arm. Her head tilted slightly back as she laughed—a smile Rose didn't trust. And Dante... he wasn't frowning.
He looked comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Rose felt a strange twist in her chest. This wasn't jealousy—it was confusion. She had seen Dante in every form: ruthless, secretive, protective. But not...this. Not easy. Not soft.
And that woman—Valentina—was touching things. Speaking like she belonged.
Rose pulled back from the window. She didn't want to be seen. Not yet.
And Rose Cruz wasn't going to stand on the outside anymore.
"Why did you really come?" Dante asked after his mom went to bed.The fireplace cast shadows on Valentina's face as she leaned back on the couch.
Valentina tilted her head. "Maybe I missed you."
That gave him pause. His hand stilled on the whiskey glass.
"Don't joke like that."
"Who said I was joking?" she said, her voice quieter now.
Silence stretched between them. The tension wasn't romantic. Not exactly. It was something knotted with old blood, old betrayals, shared scars.
"Bullshit. What game is this now?" He asked, laugh
ing.
She stood up slowly, walked toward him. Their faces were close.
"I never play games, Dante. I win them."