Venetian rain soaked through Valentina’s coat before she realized she was walking without purpose. Her steps echoed on the cobbled path, each one taking her farther from the villa and from the woman who had nearly convinced her she was born to carry poison.
Adrian caught up with her under the narrow arch of a bridge, his hand wrapping around her wrist not forcefully, but with a tethering weight.
“You just walked out of a room where people are usually shot for speaking like that,” he said.
“I didn’t speak. I declared.”
Her voice was flat, the aftershock of fury humming under her skin like live wires. She pulled her wrist free but didn’t walk away. Not yet.
Adrian stood in front of her, the rain beading on his lashes. “You didn’t win in there. You survived.”
“That’s enough for today.”
