Valentina POV
By the time we returned home from the gala, Rafael had threatened to kill Nikolai Sokolov twice, Adriano had lectured him three times, and my father had said almost nothing at all.
That was how I knew the night had gone badly.
Or well.
With my family, the difference was often difficult to measure.
The Moretti estate was quiet when we arrived, the front doors opening before the cars had fully stopped. Security moved around us in dark, practiced silence.
The night air smelled like rain and roses, damp and sharp against my skin as I stepped out of the car with my father’s hand at my back.
For most of the ride home, he had been silent.
Not cold. Never cold with me.
But thoughtful in a way that made me want to shake the answers out of him.
I had inherited many things f
