Valentina’s POV
The penthouse felt heavier tonight, the shadows thicker, the air tight with expectation. I poured a measure of whiskey into two glasses, the amber liquid catching the dim light like a promise or a threat. Sophia sat across from me, poised, infuriatingly calm, her fingers curling around the rim. Innocence painted her face, but I knew better. She wore it like a mask, and masks, in my world, were lethal.
“You know, Valentina,” she began, voice soft, deliberate, “you don’t have to look at me like that. We’re not enemies… not yet.”
I snorted, amusement and fury battling in the same breath. “Sophia. Don’t patronize me. I know exactly what you are.”
Her smile didn’t falter. “And I know exactly what you fear.”
I set my glass down, the sound sharp in the tense room. Every inst
