The night air in Palermo clung to Valentina's skin like silk woven in heat and secrets. The Moretti estate, a fortress of gold veined marble and thick shadows, seemed quieter now, though the walls had memory of whispers, bloodshed, and deals sealed with a kiss or a bullet.
She stood by the open balcony of the guest suite, staring at the Sicilian moon, its pale light casting ghostly patterns over her bare arms. Behind her, silence thickened until she felt it: the unmistakable awareness of being watched.
Lorenzo.
She didn't have to turn around. His presence wasn't gentle. It prowled. Possessive and quiet. Like a predator studying the edge of restraint.
"You shouldn't be here," she murmured, still watching the city below, even as her heart betrayed her with a traitorous lurch.
"And yet, you left the door unlocked," he said, his voice like smoke laced with gravel. "La mia tentazione proibita."
Her lips twisted into a smile, sharp as broken glass. "Maybe I wanted you to come. Maybe I wanted to see if you'd finally break."
He crossed the room in three strides and stopped just short of touching her. Valentina turned to him, her silk robe barely tied, a calculated rebellion against all that constrained her.
"We both know what this is, Lupo," she whispered, fingers brushing his chest. "We both know it can't end clean."
His hand cupped her jaw, thumb tracing the edge of her lip. "This will never end clean, Valentina. Not when you look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm the one you'd set the world on fire for."
She leaned in, her breath tangling with his. "Maybe I would."
But they didn't kiss. Not tonight. The air was thick with a craving too volatile to act on.
Lorenzo stepped back first, jaw clenched. "Tomorrow, we meet with your father. He's expecting obedience."
Valentina snorted. "He raised a lioness and now expects a lamb."
"You're walking into the den of two wolves. Arturo Cruz and Don Moretti are not men who give second chances."
"I don't want a second chance," she said coldly. "I want a new game."
The next day
Valentina wore red. Not the soft blush of courtship, but war red. Crimson silk clung to her like a declaration. Every move whispered defiance as she descended the grand staircase to the main hall, where her father and Don Moretti sat surrounded by their capos.
Lorenzo stood at the side, tense and unreadable. Emilio lounged in a chair near his father, a crooked smile playing on his lips like he already owned her.
"Valentina," Don Arturo said, voice rich with pride and warning, "today we finalize what has been in motion since before you were born."
She gave him a smile that barely reached her eyes. "I hope it comes with better terms than slavery."
Don Moretti chuckled darkly. "Fiery, like your mother. You will do well with Emilio."
Her gaze flicked to Emilio. "He's not the one I want."
Gasps followed. Chairs scraped. The room froze.
"Valentina." Her father's voice was ice. "This is not a discussion."
"Then maybe I'm done with conversations."
She stepped closer to Lorenzo. Her move was bold, reckless. Intentional.
Every eye watched.
Lorenzo's fists clenched, but he didn't move.
Yet.
Don Moretti stood slowly. "You dare insult this alliance?"
Valentina lifted her chin. "I dare tell the truth. I will not be handed like a trophy. Not to a coward who poisons people behind velvet smiles."
Emilio's smile vanished. "Careful, mi reina. You're speaking to your future husband."
"No," she said softly, coldly. "I'm speaking to the man who killed Tío Rafael and blamed it on a rival."
Shock swept through the room like a bomb.
Lorenzo's head snapped up. Arturo's glass dropped. Emilio stilled.
"You have no proof," Emilio said through gritted teeth.
"Not yet," Valentina replied. "But it's coming."
And with that, she walked out. Not rushed. Not afraid. Just a queen leaving a table of liars.