The sky cracked open with thunder as the jet touched down in Monaco.
Elira stepped out first—heels sharp, hair windblown, dress clinging to her curves like it had secrets to keep.
Behind her, Damien followed, jaw tight, eyes scanning everything.
They weren’t here for leisure.
They were here to end something.
“Tell me again why we’re meeting her here?” Elira asked.
“Because Monaco is neutral ground,” Damien muttered, “and Valencia still has one card left to play.”
Elira didn’t flinch. “So do I.”
—
The meeting took place inside a glass-walled penthouse overlooking the bay.
Valencia was already seated. Champagne in hand. Legs crossed like a queen without a crown.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” she purred, eyes flicking between Elira and Damien. “Thought you two would be too busy making
