Chapter 4: Shattered Glass
Valentina's POV
The champagne tasted like ash in my mouth.
Around me, the charity gala sparkled with wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers, designer gowns, politicians rubbing elbows with philanthropists who made their money in ways no one discussed in polite company. The orchestra played something classical and forgettable. Everything was perfect.
I smiled at the mayor's wife and wanted to scream.
Alessandro materialized at my elbow with two fresh glasses of champagne. He looked good in his tuxedo, all clean lines and confidence. His hand settled on the small of my back, proprietary.
"You look beautiful tonight," he murmured.
"Thank you." The blue Valentino dress felt like a straightjacket.
"Your father wants us to mingle with the hospital board. Ready?"
No. "Of course."
We made our rounds like the perfect couple we were supposed to be. Alessandro was charming, attentive, everything a woman could want. Several people commented on what a handsome pair we made. Someone asked if there was an announcement coming soon.
Alessandro just smiled mysteriously.
My phone buzzed in my clutch. I ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.
"Excuse me." I extracted myself from Alessandro's grip. "I need to powder my nose."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. Always so understanding.
In the bathroom, I pulled out my phone. Seven missed calls from Paulo. Three from the house. Two from numbers I didn't recognize.
My hands started shaking before I even knew why.
I called Paulo back. He answered on the first ring.
"Valentina, thank God." His voice was wrong, high and thin. "You need to come home. Now."
"What happened?"
"Just come. Don't tell anyone. Don't make a scene. Just leave quietly and come home."
He hung up.
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My face was pale beneath perfectly applied makeup. My eyes looked huge, frightened.
Something bad is coming.
I'd told Lucia that just yesterday. Warned her that something felt wrong.
I hadn't known I was right.
The drive home took seventeen minutes. It felt like seventeen hours.
I'd made my excuses to Alessandro, claimed a migraine, promised to call him later. He'd wanted to drive me, but I'd insisted on taking my own car. The less he knew right now, the safer he was.
Safer from what, I didn't know yet.
But I knew.
The estate gates stood open. That was the first sign. We never left them open. There were cars everywhere, some I recognized, some I didn't. Men in suits clustered on the front steps, talking in low voices that stopped when they saw me.
I parked crooked and ran.
Paulo met me at the door. His glasses were gone, probably broken. There was blood on his collar.
"Where is he?" My voice came from somewhere far away.
"Valentina, you need to prepare yourself."
"Where. Is. He."
Paulo's face crumpled. "His study."
I pushed past him and ran. My heels clicked on marble floors. The house felt wrong, too quiet and too loud all at once. People stared as I passed. Some reached for me. I dodged them all.
The study door was open.
Marco sat on the floor outside, his back against the wall, his face buried in his hands. When he looked up at me, his eyes were red and swollen and utterly destroyed.
"Val." His voice broke on my name. "Val, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
I stepped into the study.
My father lay on his Persian rug, the one he'd bought at auction in Istanbul, the one he'd been so proud of. There was so much blood. It had soaked into the intricate patterns, turning gold thread to rust, blue silk to black.
Three holes in his chest. Perfect grouping. Professional.
His eyes were open, staring at nothing.
Someone had closed the window but hadn't drawn the curtains. Moonlight spilled across his body, making his skin look gray and waxy.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't process that the man who'd kissed my forehead just hours ago was gone.
"He was in a meeting." Paulo appeared beside me. I hadn't heard him enter. "Private. Just him and his guest. We heard the shots. By the time we got the door open..." He trailed off.
"Who?" The word came out as a whisper.
"We don't know. The guest was gone. East window. Professional extraction."
I looked at the open window. Looked at my father. Looked at the blood.
"His last words." Paulo's voice wavered. "He said, 'Trust no one. Not even blood.'"
Trust no one.
Not even blood.
I turned to look at Paulo, really look at him. His nervous energy. His bloodstained collar. His convenient absence during the actual shooting.
"Where were you?" I asked quietly.
"I was in the hallway. We all were."
"All of you were outside while my father was alone with a guest in his study? That's protocol?"
Paulo blinked. "The guest was cleared. Someone he trusted."
"Who?"
"I don't know. He didn't say."
Liar. The word blazed through my mind with perfect clarity. Paulo was lying.
But before I could press him, the room filled with people. Uncle Roberto pushed through first, his face red, his voice booming. "What the hell happened here?"
More family arrived. Soldiers. Associates. Everyone talking at once, demanding answers, making accusations. The Romano family was a shark tank, and someone had just dumped blood in the water.
I backed away slowly, unnoticed in the chaos. Found Marco still sitting in the hallway.
"He called me." Marco looked up at me with devastated eyes. "Right before. Said he needed to talk to me about something important. Told me to come to the study in an hour. But I was..." He swallowed hard. "I was drunk. At a bar. I didn't leave in time. I was late. If I'd been here, if I'd just—"
"It's not your fault." I slid down the wall next to him, taking his hand. It was cold and clammy. "This was planned. Professional. You couldn't have stopped it."
"I should have tried."
We sat there while our world ended around us. Voices rose in the study behind us. Arguments about succession, about leadership, about what came next. My father's body was still warm, and they were already fighting over his crown.
Trust no one.
Not even blood.
Uncle Roberto emerged from the study, Paulo at his heels. My uncle's eyes found mine, and something in his expression made my skin crawl.
"Valentina. Marco. We need to talk about the family's future."
It wasn't a request.
And I realized, sitting there on the floor next to my broken brother, that my father's warning had been right.
The real danger wasn't whoever had pulled the trigger.
It was everyone around me, circling like vultures, waiting to pick our bones clean.
The perfect daughter had just become an orphan.
And in our world, orphans didn't last long.