The morning light seeped through the heavy drapes, casting a muted glow over the room. Valentina sat at the edge of her bed, dressed but unmoving, staring at the wall like it might offer answers she couldn't find within herself.
She had barely slept.
Every word Dante and Marco spoke the night before kept playing over and over in her mind, a broken record of betrayal and half-truths. Her father had not been a martyr. He had been a traitor.
And Adrian... Adrian had known.
The knock came again, this time sharper. She straightened, schooling her face into neutrality.
"Come in," she called.
Adrian entered, his presence filling the room like a force of nature. He wore a dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins taut on his forearms. His hair was tousled, eyes shadowed as if he, too, hadn’t foun
