Valentina’s POV
The man’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s slow, deliberate, predatory—the kind of smile you wear when you know you’ve already won before the first shot is fired.
Dominic’s hand tightens on mine, a warning. The rain falls harder now, slicking the alley in silver and shadow. I taste copper in my mouth and don’t know if it’s from the last firefight or from fear.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand, voice steady, though my pulse is loud in my ears.
He doesn’t answer. He just steps forward, deliberate, boots clanging on wet concrete. Behind him, his men fan out, forming a line of black and menace.
Sophia tilts her head, calm, composed, like she’s watching a chessboard I don’t even see. “Valentina,” she says softly, almost mournfully, “meet your new problem.”
The words make
