Lorenzo's POV
Florence was a cathedral of shadows at night. Marble glinted under moonlight, silent piazzas stretched empty between ancient structures, and somewhere above the rooftops, church bells whispered secrets to the wind.
Lorenzo had never felt smaller in this city his city, than he did tonight.
Valentina de la Cruz had carved something out of him. Not with her knives. Not with her barbed tongue or fierce eyes. But with the soft curve of her vulnerability the crack in her armor when she looked at him like he was more than a monster.
And God help him, he almost believed it.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel of the matte black Maserati as he pulled off the winding road toward his private villa on the hillside. His knuckles blanched white. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
He shouldn't have touched her.
He shouldn't have leaned in close enough to memorize the sound of her exhale, the twitch of hesitation in her fingers, the way she flinched not from fear, but from something far more dangerous. Recognition.
She had seen something in him. Something he'd buried long ago beneath bullets and blood.
And for a fleeting second, he wanted her to keep looking.
His phone buzzed beside him.
He ignored it.
Then it buzzed again.
This time, he reached for it half hoping it was her. But instead of Valentina's name, it was the last person he wanted to hear from.
Emilio Moretti.
The devil in a three-piece suit. His half-brother. His leash. The secret keeper of the Vendetta de Sangre.
1 New Message.
He tapped the screen.
"Don't lose sight of the target. She is not your salvation, Lorenzo. She's a detonator. And you are standing too close."
Lorenzo slammed the phone down on the leather seat.
Emilio always knew.
Even before Lorenzo fully understood what he was feeling, Emilio already smelled the rot of distraction.
But how could he explain what Valentina was to him? She wasn't a mark. She wasn't a trap. Or maybe she was both. But she was also the only thing in his world that wasn't already decided by bloodlines and power plays.
She was chaos, yes. But she was his kind of chaos.
And yet
He could still taste her hesitation. She hadn't given him her full truth. She was pulling her punches. She wanted him to step closer but only so she could see how sharp her blades had to be.
And Lorenzo? He couldn't tell whether he wanted to disarm her or dare her to stab.
He reached the villa gates. A guard opened them without a word. The headlights cut through the private road like a scalpel, slicing the darkness.
Then, his phone buzzed again.
But this time, it wasn't Emilio. It was from an unknown number.
"You're not the only one watching her."
"She's not the only spy in your bed."
"Don't let her drink your blood before you realize she came for your heart."
His pulse slowed. Froze.
He parked. Silence stretched like a noose in the car.
The text sat on the screen like a wound he couldn't close.
Who the hell was watching them?
A deeper question began to form like smoke in his mind, Was this about her betrayal? Or was someone warning him about his own?
Lorenzo got out of the car, boots crunching against gravel. The villa loomed ahead like a mausoleum for all the things he'd lost: love, trust, a life untouched by blood.
And yet, tonight he had almost reached for something different.
He let her in.
Not just to his house.
To his mind.
To the graveyard behind his ribcage.
And now the line between protector and pawn was dangerously blurred.
He walked inside. Darkness hugged the hallway. He passed the closed door to the guest room the one Valentina had occupied the night before. He paused there. His fingers ghosted over the doorknob.
He could still smell her perfume like sin dipped in silk.
He closed his eyes.
She was asleep now, or pretending to be. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was plotting.
And maybe, just maybe she was wondering the same thing he was.
Who's playing who?
A whisper of wind moved through the cracked window down the hall. It carried the sound of bells.
And beneath the ringing was something else.
A low click. A shuffle.
He turned slowly.
Someone was inside the villa.
Lorenzo reached under his coat and pulled his Glock. The hallway stretched before him like a promise he didn't want to keep.
He walked forward. Silent. Focused. Heart pounding with each step.
Valentina's door creaked open behind him.
A voice whispered:
"You're not supposed to be alone tonight, are you?"
And the game shifted again.