Episode four-Something dangerous
1536 Words
Valentina
The reception was loud—music pulsing through the walls, laughter spilling across the garden—but all Valentina could hear was her own heartbeat. That, and the echo of Lucía’s voice in her head.
“You don’t know what it’s like for people like me if this goes wrong.”
She stood near the edge of the venue now, glass of untouched prosecco in hand, eyes trained on the back entrance to the kitchen as though Lucía might slip through it again.
She wouldn’t. Valentina knew that. Girls like her didn’t come back out when they were smart.
And Lucía was smart. Too smart, maybe.
Which was exactly what made her so… dangerous.
Valentina brought the glass to her lips, took a slow sip, and barely tasted a thing. She could still feel the brush of Lucía’s fingers under the fluorescent kitchen lights, the electricity of that one brief moment when she’d leaned in—so close she could hear Lucía’s breath catch.
And still, she’d walked away.
Valentina was used to getting what she wanted. Hell, she was trained to expect it. Power was bred into her bones, wrapped around her last name like a silk noose. She knew how to play people, how to read them, how to dominate a room without speaking. It was the first lesson her father ever taught her: If you’re not the one with the upper hand, you’re already dead.
But Lucía… Lucía hadn’t given her anything.
Not her name, not her number, not even a real smile.
And now Valentina couldn’t stop thinking about her.
She tilted her head back and let the prosecco slide down her throat, then set the glass down on the nearest tray. She needed air. Or fire. Or something sharp enough to cut through this relentless tension coiling inside her chest.
Instead, she found her brother.
Matteo had loosened his tie and was laughing at something one of his friends said, arms draped around his new bride like he’d forgotten the entire family legacy sitting in his lap. His wife, sweet and elegant in her off-the-shoulder gown, looked up at him like he’d hung the moon.
Valentina swallowed a bitter taste that had nothing to do with champagne.
She loved Matteo. She did. But she didn’t understand him.
Didn’t understand how he could marry for love. Didn’t understand how he could risk everything for softness. Didn’t he know what kind of world they lived in? What it did to people like them?
"Love makes you stupid," her mother once told her. It makes you reckless. You want to survive? Don’t fall in love. Take control. Always.
Valentina hadn’t questioned that advice.
Until tonight.
Until a girl with trembling hands and strawberry-stained gloves looked her in the eye and said no.
A hand touched her elbow. “You’ve been quiet all night.”
It was her cousin Luca, eyebrows raised, drink in hand.
“I’m watching,” she said smoothly. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to enjoy yourself. It’s a wedding, not a funeral.”
Valentina smiled thinly. “Same thing if you marry the wrong person.”
Luca laughed. “You really think that catering girl’s the right person?”
Her gaze snapped to his.
He grinned. “Please. Everyone saw you sneak into the kitchen. You think you’re subtle, Vale, but you’re not. Especially not when you're... interested.”
Valentina didn’t blink. “Say her name again, and I’ll remove your tongue with a steak knife.”
Luca held up both hands, chuckling. “Understood. Message received.”
She turned away before he could see the flush rising in her cheeks.
She hated that he’d noticed. Hated that anyone had. But more than that, she hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about it long enough to care.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and thumbed into her notes' app, scrolled past hit lists and contact names and vendor details until she found the one thing that wasn’t supposed to be there.
Lucía.
Just a name. One she shouldn’t have asked for.
One that had somehow scorched itself into her memory the second it fell from those lips.
She didn’t even know her last name. Didn’t know where she lived, what she dreamed about, what kind of life she had to protect so fiercely.
But she wanted to.
God, she wanted to.
Not in the usual way—not like the disposable flings who clung to her arm at events and left lipstick on her collar. Lucía hadn’t flirted. She hadn’t even smiled.
She’d looked at Valentina like she was a loaded gun.
And Valentina had never wanted to be pulled harder.
Later, when the reception began to wind down and the guests thinned out, Valentina retreated to her car. She slid behind the wheel of the black Maserati, the scent of leather and expensive cologne clinging to the interior like a second skin.
She sat there for a long moment, palms resting on the wheel, engine silent.
Lucía’s face wouldn’t leave her mind.
Neither would her voice.
“I’m not some girl you can play with.”
Valentina leaned her head back and exhaled through her nose.
This wasn’t like her. She didn’t chase. She didn’t linger. She’d been with women before—beautiful ones. Wild ones. But none of them had ever made her feel off balance. None of them had made her doubt herself. Doubt her control.
Lucía had.
And that terrified her.
Because Valentina was a Moretti. And Morettis didn’t lose control.
Her phone buzzed.
She checked it. A message from Adriana, her second-in-command.
A reminder: 9am meet with Miguel’s people. Bring the paperwork. Try not to threaten them this time.
She almost smiled.
But the name Lucía still pulsed behind her eyes like a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing.
She needed to forget about her. That was the smart thing to do.
The only thing.
But Valentina wasn’t known for doing the smart thing when it came to temptation.
She was known for burning.
The next morning, she couldn’t shake it.
She tried. She got dressed in her tailored suit, went to the meeting with Miguel’s associates, smiled through veiled threats and cigar smoke. She signed contracts with the practiced grace of someone who'd been raised at a negotiation table.
But even in the middle of business, her mind drifted.
What would Lucía’s hair look like unpinned?
What would her mouth taste like when it wasn’t tight with fear?
What would it take to make her smile?
By noon, Valentina had broken her rule and made a call.
Not to Lucía—she didn’t have that number.
But to someone who might know.
“Isabella,” she said, when the head caterer picked up, “I need a list of your serving staff from last night.”
There was a pause.
“You are planning a private event, Ms. Moretti?”
“You could say that.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“You know, I can’t give out personal employee info. It’s against—”
“I’ll triple whatever you made last night.”
A beat of silence.
Then: “Check your email in five minutes.”
Valentina ended the call.
She didn’t smile.
She didn’t even breathe until the email hit her inbox, and she opened it with a thumb swipe and a heartbeat hammering too loudly in her chest.
There it was.
Lucía Reyes. Age 21. Temporary hire. Lives in Westbrook.
That was all. No phone number. No address. Just a sliver of data.
But it was enough.
She stared at the name like it might answer all her questions.
It didn’t.
But it gave her a new one.
How far was she willing to go to chase this feeling?
By evening, Valentina found herself parked outside a run-down apartment building on the edge of Westbrook.
She didn’t know what she was doing there.
She told herself it was curiosity. Just to see. Just to make sure Lucía was real, and not some fever dream stitched into the haze of wine and wedding lights.
But when she saw her—
Lucía stepping out of the building in jeans and a faded sweatshirt, a tote bag over her shoulder and headphones in her ears—Valentina felt something crack open in her chest.
She looked… normal.
Tired. Busy. Small, in the kind of way that made Valentina feel monstrous.
And so f*****g beautiful.
She didn't approach. She couldn’t.
Instead, she watched from the safety of tinted glass as Lucía walked to a bus stop and waited, shifting from foot to foot.
This wasn’t a girl who could afford to be reckless.
This was a girl with a life Valentina didn’t understand—one that wasn’t built on power and blood, but on survival and sweat.
And yet—
Valentina had never wanted anyone more.
She clenched the steering wheel, fingers aching.
She needed to be careful.
But more than that, she needed to see her again.
And if Lucía didn’t come to her...
Then Valentina would go back to her.
Again.
And again.
Until the fire between them was either quenched—or consumed them both.
- Writer
