Valentina couldn’t stop thinking about Adrian’s hands.

Not in the way romance novels described men.

Not softness.

Not desire.

Precision.

The terrifying kind.

The way he had disarmed the attacker at the hotel replayed in her mind long after the dinner ended. Every movement had looked instinctive, brutally efficient, almost military in its control. No hesitation. No panic. No wasted motion.

That was not ordinary security work.

That was training built in places where mistakes got people killed.

By the time the convoy returned to the Moretti penthouse shortly after midnight, Valentina had already reached one conclusion with absolute certainty:

Adrian Volkov was lying about who he really was.

The question was why.

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse, and Luca stumbled out first, whiskey-heavy irritation still lingering in every movement. The failed attack at the hotel had damaged his mood badly.

Which meant everyone around him became collateral damage.

“You embarrassed me tonight,” Luca muttered while shrugging off his coat.

Valentina removed her gloves slowly. “Interesting interpretation. I thought the armed assassin embarrassed you.”

Luca shot her a sharp look but ignored the comment. His attention shifted toward Adrian instead.

“I want double security downstairs,” he ordered. “Nobody enters this building without clearance.”

Adrian nodded once. “Already done.”

The answer irritated Luca further because it meant Adrian had acted without waiting for instructions.

Again.

Valentina noticed that too.

Luca loosened his tie aggressively before heading toward the hallway leading to his private office. “I’ll be working for another hour,” he muttered. “Don’t bother me unless the city starts burning.”

The office door slammed shut moments later.

Silence settled across the penthouse afterward.

Adrian remained near the windows, speaking quietly into his earpiece while scanning the streets below. Manhattan glittered beneath the midnight skyline, beautiful and cold beyond the glass.

Valentina studied him from across the room.

The bruised waiter at the hotel.

The impossible reflexes.

The way Luca kept testing him.

The way Adrian never reacted emotionally but somehow still radiated violence.

None of it fit together cleanly.

“You’re staring again,” Adrian said without turning around.

Valentina almost smiled. “You notice everything too.”

“It’s part of the job.”

“That answer is becoming less convincing.”

Now he looked at her.

Not defensive.

Not surprised.

Just watchful.

For a brief second, the atmosphere between them tightened into something dangerous and quiet.

Then Adrian’s earpiece crackled softly.

He touched it immediately. “Repeat that.”

A pause.

His expression hardened slightly.

“What happened?” Valentina asked.

“One of Luca’s captains got arrested downtown.”

“Police?”

“Yes.”

“That explains the mood tonight.”

Adrian nodded once before heading toward the elevator again. “I need to check security downstairs.”

Valentina tilted her head slightly. “And here I thought you were starting to enjoy my company.”

“You’re difficult to enjoy safely.”

The answer came dry enough that it almost sounded human.

Almost.

The elevator doors closed behind him moments later, leaving Valentina alone inside the penthouse.

Completely alone.

Her eyes drifted slowly toward the hallway.

Toward Luca’s office.

Locked.

Always locked.

The realization settled into her chest immediately.

Now.

If there was ever going to be a chance, it was now.

Valentina moved quietly through the apartment, heels abandoned near the living room so her bare feet made no sound against the marble floor. The penthouse lights remained dim, casting long shadows across the hallway leading toward Luca’s office.

Her pulse stayed steady.

Not because she wasn’t afraid.

Because fear had stopped being useful years ago.

The office door stood closed at the far end of the hall beneath warm recessed lighting. Dark wood. Steel internal lock system. Fingerprint scanner beside the handle.

Luca trusted nobody.

Valentina reached the door slowly and removed a thin metal hairpin from her hair.

Old habits.

People assumed rich women learned piano and etiquette growing up.

Valentina learned how to survive powerful men.

That included learning how to open things they wanted hidden.

The fingerprint scanner itself was impossible without Luca present, but the mechanical backup lock hidden beneath the side panel was older technology.

Older technology made mistakes.

Thirty seconds later, the lock clicked softly open.

Valentina exhaled once and stepped inside.

The office smelled like leather, whiskey, expensive cigars, and Luca’s cologne.

Cold lighting illuminated dark bookshelves, polished wood furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. Everything looked immaculate at first glance.

Luca liked control.

He liked spaces that obeyed him.

Valentina closed the door carefully behind her and moved toward the massive black desk near the center of the room.

Locked drawers.

Encrypted laptop.

Paper files arranged too neatly.

But Luca always had one weakness.

Ego.

Men like him believed they were smarter than everyone around them.

That confidence created carelessness.

Valentina checked the desk quickly before moving toward the bookshelf lining the back wall. Her fingers brushed lightly across expensive bindings until she noticed it.

Dust.

One section held less dust than the others.

Recently touched.

She pressed lightly against the shelf.

A soft click sounded somewhere behind the wall.

Valentina froze briefly.

Then slowly pushed again.

Part of the bookshelf shifted inward, revealing a hidden compartment behind it.

There it was.

Not money.

Not weapons.

Files.

Dozens of them.

Valentina’s heartbeat quickened slightly as she pulled the first folder free.

Shipping manifests.

Offshore accounts.

Photographs.

The deeper she looked, the colder her blood became.

Women.

Young women.

Passport photos paper-clipped beside transaction records.

Some marked transferred.

Others marked missing.

A few marked deceased.

For several seconds, Valentina simply stared.

No.

No, Luca wouldn’t—

Except of course he would.

Because suddenly every disappearing woman made sense.

Every whispered rumor.

Every wife who vanished after becoming inconvenient.

Her hands tightened around the files hard enough to wrinkle paper.

Then she found another folder.

Weapons routes connected to Eastern European contractors.

Mercenary transport schedules.

Financial transfers linked to shell corporations she recognized from Arturo’s documents.

And buried near the bottom—

a photograph.

Valentina’s breath caught instantly.

Adrian.

The image showed him standing beside several armed men near what looked like a military transport dock overseas. Younger. Bloodier. Wearing tactical gear instead of tailored black suits.

On the back of the photo, handwritten in Luca’s sharp script:

VOLKOV — useful but dangerous. Never fully trust men trained for war.

Valentina stared at the photograph for several long seconds.

So Luca knew.

Maybe not everything.

But enough.

Enough to fear him.

A noise sounded suddenly outside the office.

Footsteps.

Valentina’s head snapped toward the door.

Someone was in the hallway.

Close.

Very close.

Her pulse surged hard now as she shoved the files back into the compartment and pushed the hidden shelf closed again.

The footsteps stopped directly outside the office.

Then came the sound of the handle turning slowly.