Chapter 2 A Threat in Valentina’s Briefcase #5
Valentina stepped in so fast it made Enzo’s instincts flare. She grabbed the gloved man’s wrist, leather on leather, and yanked his arm down. Her grip was controlled, but her nails bit through fabric at the seam like she’d done it before.
“Don’t insult me,” she said, and her tone wasn’t angry. It was disgusted. “Your boss told you to speak like a puppet. But your eyes keep trying to look past me. That means you’ve seen him. It means you’re afraid of him.”
The man’s mouth opened, then closed. He tried to pull free. Valentina didn’t let him. Enzo watched the gloved man’s breath hitch - watched the moment his body realized resistance wouldn’t win.
He spoke through his teeth. “I’ve seen him once. In the archive corridor.”
Vito sucked in a breath. “That’s where you’re not supposed to be.”
Enzo didn’t blink. “When?”
The gloved man’s gaze went distant, as if he had to drag the memory out of a locked drawer. “After the smearing. Before the verification stamps were wiped.”
Valentina’s face went still in a way that looked like ice over a wound. “So you’re admitting the tampering happened inside our own corridor.”
The man nodded once, slow. “It was… cleaned. Like a crime scene.”
Enzo felt his anger rise, but it didn’t have anywhere to go. It had to be aimed. He couldn’t afford to burn down the wrong thing and still keep Valentina safe.
The corridor door at the far end opened a fraction. A thin line of light cut across the garage floor. Enzo heard the soft mechanical click of a lock turning from the inside.
Vito’s head snapped toward it. “They’re inside.”
Valentina’s grip tightened on the gloved man’s wrist. “How many?”
The man’s eyes darted to the corridor. “Two more. One carrying. One - ” He swallowed. “One watching.”
Enzo’s mind did the math in the space of a blink. Two moving pieces. One bag. One verification. If the rest of the partial copy was already on the move, then the ambush wasn’t at Valentina’s back. It was in front of her, inside the secure corridor she’d been told was locked down.
He made a decision that felt like stepping off a ledge.
“Valentina,” he said, “walk out of the garage.”
Her eyes flashed. “No.”
“You can’t stay here,” Enzo continued, more force in his tone than he liked. “We’re going to intercept the bag mid-route. That means you’re going to be the last person they expect to survive long enough to ask questions.”
Valentina’s lips parted, and for a heartbeat he saw her fear under the rage. She didn’t want to leave control. She didn’t want to be moved like a pawn.
Enzo leaned close, close enough that only she would hear. “Let me take the risk.”
Her stare locked on his. “You always make it sound like a gift.”
“It’s a bargain,” he corrected. “You give me trust. I give you time.”
Something in her expression shifted - painful, reluctant. Then she nodded once, sharp. “Time. Not trust.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t have the luxury of winning her in a single breath. He had to earn it in actions that didn’t leave her bleeding.
Vito raised his voice just enough for the garage air to carry it. “Enzo - what’s the plan?”
Enzo didn’t let himself look at the van. He didn’t let himself imagine the rest getting verified without him. “We go now. We keep her route clean. No alarms, no sirens. We cut them off before they reach the elevator.”
Valentina’s voice was low, fierce. “My route isn’t clean. It’s already compromised.”
Enzo glanced at her briefcase, at the way she held it like a shield. “Then we make it less useful to them.”
The gloved man beneath Valentina’s grip started to tremble. Not from pain. From the realization that his escape window was closing.
Valentina released him with a shove that sent him stumbling back a step. Enzo watched him stumble, watched the microsecond where he decided whether to run or fight. He didn’t get either. Vito moved first, intercepting with a tight, practiced grab at the man’s elbow.
The gloved man’s head snapped toward Vito, eyes hard. “You don’t have authorization to hold me.”
Valentina’s smile was small and lethal. “Then you should’ve thought about that before you tried to crawl through our corridor.”
Enzo turned, scanning the garage for the quickest access to the secure interior hallway. His team was already relocating - two men moving like they’d rehearsed this exact nightmare, another holding a door shut so civilians couldn’t drift into the line of fire.
He caught Valentina’s attention again. She was walking now, briefcase held tight, chin high, like she refused to be escorted by fear.
But her shoulders were tense, and he saw the way her gaze kept flicking toward the corridor door - tracking exits, tracking angles, tracking the possibility of betrayal.
He didn’t blame her. Betrayal was the only language The Shadows spoke fluently.
They reached the stairwell that led to the secure corridor entrance.
The metal door was scuffed from use. Cold air seeped through the crack every time it shifted.
Enzo smelled dust and old sweat. Underneath it all, the faint resin bite was back - like the building had been coated with the same chemical that protected the pact.
He keyed the access pad with a code he’d earned the right to use, not the right to feel