The Valenti convoy cut through the morning mist like a blade. Black SUVs. Tinted windows. Armed escorts.
A silent, unified procession heading toward the ancient stone courtyard where the Council of Twelve Families convened.
Calla sat beside Adrian in the back seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She wore a fitted black dress that Belinda had insisted on — elegant, commanding, unmistakably regal. A Luna’s dress.
Adrian wore a dark suit, no tie, the top button undone. His throat was bare, his chest visible in a way that felt almost indecently intimate. She knew why.
She’d left marks on him last night.
And he hadn’t covered a single one.
His hand rested on her thigh, firm, warm, unmoving.
Not a casual gesture and certainly not comforting but a warning - to everyone watching outs
