Blood and Roses

Chapter Five: The Mafia Heir's Game

The cell was dark, the hollowness immense, only illuminated by the soft buzz of a single overhead light. Valentina had passed the last twenty-four hours with counting the cracks in the ceiling, the footsteps that reached the cell and receded beyond the iron bars, and the seconds ticking away into the hours.

She had slept not at all. She had eaten not a bite.

And neither did she care.

Time did not matter to her. Not here. Not when she was aware of what lay ahead.

And then, on time—he came.

Dante Romano.

His walk was slow as he entered the basement, the heavy weight of his presence oppressing. He did not have his guards accompany him today. He did not need them. The door creaked as he opened it and entered, closing it after him.

For a long moment, he merely stared at her.

Valentina gazed at him, unflinching.

"You didn't eat," he said. His voice was smooth, but there was an edge beneath, like a blade in velvet.

She smiled, leaning against the cold of the wall. "Wasn't hungry."

Dante hummed, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp black shirt. "That's too bad. I had the chef make something special."

He knelt in front of her, eyes glinting with something impenetrable. "I'd hate to think I'm keeping you in unsatisfactory conditions."

Valentina's eyebrow rose. "I didn't take you for the hospitable type."

"I'm not," Dante admitted. "But I do prefer my guests to be. comfortable."

His fingers plunged into his pocket. A glint of metal, a catch of silver—her knife. He held it up between them, watching as her eyes caught on it before returning to his.

"You had twenty-four hours to think," he said, spinning the blade in his hand. "Made up your mind?"

Valentina leaned forward, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. "Yeah. I'm still not working for you."

Dante let out a disappointed sigh, but there was something more—something tougher.

"Stubborn," he muttered. "But I should have known better."

He leaned down to her, placing his forearm on his knee. "Play another game."

She didn't like the way he was saying this.

Dante leaned closer. "Who sent you?"

There was just silence.

He grinned. "Come on, Valentina. Don't make this take so long."

She shot him a smirk. "Go to hell."

Dante exhaled through his nostrils, smiling. "We've been here before."

He got up, pacing slowly. "You're good, I'll say that. The best, even. But the point is—everyone breaks at some point. Some in minutes. Some in days. I wonder… how long will you last?"

Valentina curled her fingers into fists. She would not give him the satisfaction of a response.

Dante hesitated before her, his mind working. Then, with a smooth motion, he picked up the metal chair from the corner and dragged it across the floor, the harsh shrieking in the small room. He sat, elbows on knees, eyes dark and unreadable.

"Let me make one thing clear," he said to her, his voice hard but immovable. "I don't need you to say a word. I already have my suspicions. But I want to hear it from you."

Valentina said nothing.

Dante's jaw tightened.

"Who hired you?"

Silence.

"Who arranged to have me killed?"

Nothing.

Dante breathed in, tracing his thumb over the blade of her knife. "Do you have any idea how many ways I could get you to talk?"

She smiled. "Oh, I'm sure you have lots of ideas."

Dante sneered. "I do."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to something softer, almost sinister. "But I'd rather not waste time. So let's keep this simple."

He stood up suddenly, towering over her.

"If you tell me what I want to know, I'll make this easy for you."

Valentina laughed. "You think I'm afraid of pain?"

Dante's eyes went black. "No."

That was the problem.

He had interrogated hundreds. Some cracked in seconds, others in hours. But Valentina—she was different. She was not afraid. Not of him. Not of death.

And that infuriated him.

His jaw was tight. "You're not leaving that room until I get answers."

Valentina smiled, leaning slightly against the wall. "Guess we'll be doing a lot of this together, then."

Something flickered in Dante's eyes—irritation, amusement, something more.

He sighed heavily. "Fine. Have it your way."

Then, without another word, he turned and departed, locking the door behind him.

Valentina observed him go, her smile never faltering.

She could handle pain. She could handle captivity.

But what she hadn't anticipated… was the pounding of her heartbeat as he leaned closer. The fact that his eyes lingered for just a moment too long. The sensation that the energy between them was some kind of contest neither wanted to lose.

She too

k a deep breath, leaning back into the wall.

This was just the start.

And she wasn't breaking any time soon.