The room was cold....colder than Valentina remembered. Not because of the temperature, but because of what it symbolized.
The cement walls were lined with steel beams. No windows. Just a single light flickering above her, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts. Her wrists were raw from the cable ties. Her mouth was dry. The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue.
She was back in a cage. But this time, it wasn’t Adrian Costa’s.
It was worse.
The door creaked open. A man stepped in. Broad-shouldered. Clean-shaven. His suit screamed power, but his eyes, his eyes were hollow.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again, Valentina Bianchi.”
Her breath caught. That voice. That name.
“Dominic,” she said hoarsely.
He chuckled, pulling a chair across the floor with a scrape that made her flinc
