Valentina’s POV
The storm outside my penthouse hadn’t stopped since midnight.
It felt poetic, thunder rumbling like the heartbeat of a city that refused to rest, rain streaking the glass walls like veins of fury.
I stood in front of my father’s old desk, the one I swore I’d never use. It still smelled faintly of his cigars, cedar, smoke, and betrayal.
Marco leaned against the far wall, his shirt still bloodstained from the night he came back from the dead.
Isabella sat at the edge of the desk, flipping through a stack of old ledgers and files we’d recovered from one of Luca’s safe houses. Her eyes flicked toward me every few seconds waiting.
And Dominic…
Dominic stood by the window, his shoulder wrapped in fresh gauze. He looked carved out of shadow, dangerous, silent, impossibl
