The sniper bullet shattered three penthouse windows before Adrian tackled Valentina to the floor.

Glass exploded across marble.

Gunfire cracked again from somewhere across the avenue while the entire apartment erupted into chaos.

“Stay down,” Adrian barked sharply.

Valentina barely had time to breathe before another round tore through the kitchen wall above them.

Adrian rolled instantly, dragging her behind the marble island while reaching for the handgun beneath his waistband in one smooth movement.

The wolf underneath had returned completely now.

Cold.

Precise.

Lethal.

His expression emptied of almost everything human.

“Was that Luca?” Valentina whispered.

“I don’t know yet.”

Lie.

Or partial lie.

She couldn’t tell anymore.

Adrian checked the shattered windows quickly before firing two controlled shots toward the opposite rooftop.

The gunfire outside stopped immediately afterward.

Too professional to continue exposed.

Which meant trained shooters.

Not random retaliation.

Adrian grabbed her hand hard enough to pull her toward the hallway. “Move.”

The penthouse alarm screamed overhead while security radios crackled violently from the elevator lobby outside.

Valentina stumbled once over broken glass but Adrian caught her instantly before she fell.

“Focus,” he snapped.

“I am focusing.”

“No, you’re panicking.”

That almost made her laugh.

Almost.

Because maybe he was right.

Everything felt unreal suddenly.

The almost-kiss.

The gunfire.

The blood.

The realization that she no longer knew who controlled this war anymore.

Adrian shoved open the private office door and immediately locked it behind them.

Luca’s office.

The irony tasted bitter.

Valentina pressed trembling hands against the edge of the desk while Adrian moved toward the security monitor wall hidden behind the bookshelf compartment.

His fingers flew across encrypted controls she’d never seen before.

Not Moretti systems.

Different.

Military.

Her chest tightened instantly.

“You installed surveillance inside Luca’s office.”

“I installed survival.”

The answer came automatically.

Too automatically.

On the monitors, black SUVs flooded the streets below the penthouse tower while emergency security teams swarmed the neighboring rooftops.

Adrian zoomed one camera feed sharply toward a parking structure across the avenue.

Empty.

Professional extraction.

The shooters were already gone.

“Damn it.”

Valentina looked toward him sharply. “You know who it was.”

Adrian didn’t answer.

Again.

Always again.

The silence inside Luca’s office suddenly became unbearable.

Valentina stepped away from the desk. “No.”

Adrian looked toward her carefully.

“No what?”

“No more half-truths.”

Her voice shook now.

Not fear.

Rage.

Exhaustion.

Everything finally collapsing together at once.

“You drag me into safe houses, get shot every other day, install secret surveillance systems inside my husband’s office, and somehow I’m still expected to pretend none of this means anything?”

“Valentina—”

“No.”

She pointed toward the hidden monitor wall violently. “Who are you really?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

Wrong answer already.

Because now she recognized the pattern.

Every silence meant guilt.

Every hesitation meant truth hiding underneath it.

Then her eyes landed on the open waterproof document bag resting beside the monitors.

Black accounting ledgers.

Photos.

Files.

One loose document partially slid from the top folder.

And she recognized the name immediately.

Caterina Bellucci.

Cold spread through her instantly.

Valentina moved before Adrian stopped her.

She grabbed the file and opened it with shaking hands.

Inside sat photographs.

Financial transfers.

Private surveillance records.

And printed emails.

Dozens of them.

Luca’s private communications.

Her stomach twisted hard.

No.

No no no—

The first message was dated eleven months earlier.

SUBJECT: Bellucci Situation

She read quickly while Adrian stepped toward her.

“Valentina, stop.”

Too late.

If Caterina continues threatening separation, handle it discreetly.

No police involvement.

Make it resemble emotional instability.

Her vision blurred.

Another email.

Isabella Costa became problematic after learning about the offshore accounts.

Ensure no surviving documentation remains after cleanup.

Another.

Wives talk when frightened. Dead women don’t.

The room tilted violently around her.

Valentina staggered backward one step before catching herself against the desk.

Her pulse roared so loudly she barely heard Adrian saying her name.

Because suddenly every funeral made sense.

Every overdose.

Every disappearance.

Every terrified woman pretending marriage inside the Moretti world wasn’t a death sentence eventually.

Luca ordered them.

All of it.

Systematically.

Casually.

Like scheduling business meetings.

Her husband.

The man who kissed her forehead.

The man who smiled through charity galas.

The man she once convinced herself might still contain something human underneath the violence.

Monster.

No.

Not monster.

Monsters implied chaos.

Luca was worse.

Organized.

Valentina looked up slowly toward Adrian.

“You already knew.”

The words came hollow.

Adrian didn’t answer immediately.

Which meant yes.

Tears burned sharply behind her eyes now.

Not soft tears.

Humiliating ones.

The kind dragged violently out of people after reality shattered completely.

“How long?” she whispered.

“Not everything.”

“How long?”

Adrian finally looked directly at her.

“Long enough.”

The answer broke something inside her chest.

Valentina laughed suddenly.

Small sound.

Damaged sound.

“Oh my God.”

She pressed one trembling hand against her mouth while trying desperately not to fall apart in front of him.

Because now she understood something even worse than Luca’s violence.

Everyone knew.

Not everyone.

But enough people.

Enough men stood around expensive dinner tables fully aware women were being murdered quietly once they became inconvenient.

And nobody stopped it.

Nobody except dead wives.

A sharp breath escaped her before she realized she was crying.

Real crying.

Not controlled tears.

Not performance.

The kind that arrived ugly and unstoppable once grief became too large to contain.

Adrian moved toward her carefully.

“Valentina—”

“Don’t.”

Her voice cracked instantly.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

He froze immediately.

Good.

Because if he touched her gently right now, she might completely break apart.

Valentina stared down at the emails again through blurred vision.

Wives talk when frightened. Dead women don’t.

Jesus Christ.

Caterina knew.

Isabella knew.

And now she knew too.

Which meant eventually—

The realization hit hard enough to steal air from her lungs again.

Luca was always going to kill her.

Not maybe.

Not eventually.

Always.

The tears came harder after that.

Silent.

Shaking.

Devastating.

Adrian watched helplessly from several feet away like a man standing too close to a burning building he couldn’t save.

“I married him,” Valentina whispered brokenly.

The sentence hurt more than the evidence.

Because suddenly every memory felt poisoned.

Every touch.

Every promise.

Every night spent beside a man already deciding which women deserved burial.

Adrian stepped closer anyway despite her warning.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like approaching someone already bleeding.

“You didn’t know,” he said quietly.

Valentina laughed bitterly through tears. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.”

His voice lowered further.

“But it means you survived him without becoming him.”

That nearly destroyed her completely.

Because for the first time since the basement—

someone finally separated victim from monster.

And God help her—

she needed that more than she wanted to admit.