Chapter 13 The Poisoned Handshake #3
Enzo’s gaze sharpened. He could feel the pressure of that clause - how it would activate through public filing, how it would force the sealed pact into motion like a trap clicking shut.
They’d been chasing the exact wording. They’d been preparing to counter it.
But if the chain-of-custody could be poisoned, the clause could be weaponized differently.
He looked at Valentina. “If they can make the pact appear tainted, they can delay us - or force us to act in a way that triggers the clause when we don’t want it triggered.”
Valentina’s expression darkened. “They want control of timing.”
Enzo nodded. “And the timing mismatch in the poison tells me they’re rehearsing that control too. Testing what happens when they change the interval.”
Valentina stared at his hands, then at the residue speck. “So the notary’s death wasn’t just an assassination attempt. It was a rehearsal run.”
Enzo’s breath caught. “Yes.”
Valentina’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t let tears fall. “He was bait.”
Enzo didn’t look away. “Yes.”
The cruelty of it landed like a fist. Valentina’s shoulders sagged for half a second, then she straightened again, refusing to collapse. Refusing to give the mastermind the satisfaction of breaking her.
“I need to see the swab results,” she said. “Now.”
Enzo glanced at the kit. The readings weren’t final, but the signature was clear enough to confirm what he suspected. He didn’t want to hand her half-truths. But he couldn’t afford to wait for certainty either.
He reached for the printed report format the clinic used for quick analysis and began transferring the swab residue into the device. The machine’s light flickered. The hum rose.
Valentina watched with an intensity that made his skin feel too tight. She looked like she might reach into the machine herself if he hesitated.
“You’re thinking about the handshake ritual again,” she said.
Enzo didn’t answer right away. He listened to the machine’s tone, the subtle shift in pitch that meant the reaction was taking hold.
Then he said, “I’m thinking about what it means that they used a signature we’ve seen before.”
Valentina’s gaze sharpened. “From The Shadows.”
“From the kind of work that forces men to retaliate the same way,” Enzo said. “From the kind of trap that relies on predictability.”
Valentina’s voice dropped. “You think they’re replaying an old pattern.”
Enzo set the report aside carefully and looked at her. “Yes.”
Valentina’s face tightened. “Then what did the old pattern lead to?”
Enzo’s throat went dry. He could see it without wanting to: a memory from earlier in the series, a night where a poison had been delivered through politeness, where the victims hadn’t understood the rules until the end.
The mastermind had believed the same thing Enzo believed now - that if you understood the technique, you could counter it.
But the counter never arrived fast enough because the real goal wasn’t death.
It was the reaction.
Enzo swallowed. “It led to a structural compromise.”
Valentina’s eyes flashed. “A compromise inside The Shadows.”
Enzo didn’t deny it. “A compromise that wasn’t announced. It was hidden in paperwork, in signatures, in the way people trusted the wrong line.”
Valentina stared at him like she was trying to decide whether to believe him or break something. “And now they’re doing it again.”
“Now they’re doing it in a way that includes you,” Enzo said.
Valentina’s lips parted, and for a moment, her expression softened with something dangerously close to understanding. Then her pride snapped it back into focus.
“I’m not your lesson,” she said. “I’m not the example.”
Enzo’s chest tightened. “No. You’re the proof.”
Valentina’s eyes narrowed. “Of what?”
“That you can’t lock yourself away from danger just because you want control,” Enzo said, and he hated how much of his own fear was in the words.
“The mastermind doesn’t need to reach you through a door.
They reach you through people. Through gestures.
Through the spaces you assume are safe because you’ve survived them before. ”
The machine’s light stopped flickering. A small indicator beeped - soft, clinical. Enzo checked the reading and felt his stomach drop.
The signature matched the handshake technique.
But the timing was off.
And the residue on the routing authorization - on her paperwork - meant the mastermind had moved closer than he liked.
Valentina reached for the report, and Enzo let her take it. Her fingers brushed his briefly - skin-to-skin. The contact wasn’t a handshake. It was an accidental overlap. But Enzo’s attention flared anyway, because he’d learned to treat proximity like a weapon.
Valentina didn’t notice his reaction. She didn’t need to. She was reading the report with a hunger that looked too much like grief.
“Someone touched this paper,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Enzo said.
Valentina’s eyes lifted. “And the paper touched me.”
“Yes.”
Her voice went cold. “So they can do it again.”
Enzo nodded once. “They already did it once.”
Valentina looked down at the report again, and her hands trembled this time - not the controlled kind from before. This was the kind that betrayed the fear she’d been swallowing since the notary died.
Enzo stepped closer, and this time he didn’t ask. He caught her hands gently and held them steady. “Breathe.”
Valentina’s breath hitched. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.
“You’re trembling,” he said again, softer now. “I need you to stop pretending you’re not.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “You think I want to be like this?”
“I think you’re trying to be strong,” Enzo replied. “And it’s making you blind.”
Valentina’s lips parted. There was something in her gaze that looked like betrayal - at him, at herself, at the universe that kept finding ways to reach her.
Then she said, voice rough, “I can’t afford to be weak.”
Enzo stared at her. The words hit him harder than the poison signature. Because he understood that logic. He’d built his life on the belief that weakness was a door enemies could kick in.
He released her hands slowly, letting her take control back with the same intensity she always had. But he didn’t let her drift back into isolation.
“You’re not weak,” he said. “You’re human. And someone is using that.”
Valentina’s eyes glistened, and this time she let the emotion show - small and furious and real. “Then why do I feel like you’re the only one who sees it?”
Enzo’s throat tightened. He couldn’t answer without risking the truth that lived underneath his ribs - a truth he didn’t want to name because naming it would make it real, and real things could be taken.
So he did what he always did. He redirected. He gave her something she could fight.
“Because I’m trained to see patterns,” he said. “And because I know what it looks like when someone tries to break you by making you react.”
Valentina’s gaze sharpened again. “So what’s the next pattern?”
Enzo looked at the door. At
the clinic backroom’s door. The metal handle was smeared with something dark - oil, maybe, or blood that had been scrubbed too fast. He didn’t touch it.
The room smelled like antiseptic and cold plastic. The overhead lights were too bright for what had just happened in the corridor, too clean for death on tile. Valentina hovered by the exam table as if the air itself might lunge at her.
Enzo lowered his voice. “The next pattern is access.”
Valentina’s brows pulled together. “Access to what? You said the signature matched the handshake technique.”
“It does.” He kept his eyes on the door, because the door was where danger liked to hide. “But the residue is wrong. Not the chemistry - how it was delivered.”
She frowned harder, and the motion made her look younger for half a second, like grief had stolen her edges. “Then someone’s copying it.”
“Or rehearsing it.” Enzo turned away from the door and reached for the swab case on the counter.
He’d taken samples from the notary’s nail bed and the attacker’s sleeve seam like Vito had taught him years ago - quietly, methodically, with the understanding that the body always testified.
The test results were on a small monitor, updated every few seconds.
He didn’t tell her that his hands wanted to shake.
He didn’t tell her that his desire to keep her close was fighting the part of him that believed closeness was exactly what enemies used.
Valentina stepped closer, and he felt the warmth of her through the space between them. When she spoke, her voice was steady, but it carried a strain that made the steadiness feel like a performance. “If the delivery method is wrong, the poison might not kill me the way it killed him.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened. “It might kill you slower.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s not better.”
“No.” He met her gaze fully now. “It’s worse. It gives them time to decide what you’re worth to them.”
Valentina’s throat moved as she swallowed. “And I’m worth something.”
“You’re worth everything to people who want The Shadows exposed.” He forced the words out like he was pushing a blade away from his own skin. “And you’re worth nothing to people who want you erased.”
She stared at him like she wanted to argue, like she wanted to refuse the map he was laying down. But she didn’t. She’d been refusing escorts, refusing guards, refusing the way other people tried to hold her up.
This wasn’t refusal. This was calculation. She was trying to decide what kind of fear she could use.
Enzo brought the swab results closer to the light. The screen displayed a faint color shift - subtle, almost polite. He’d seen poison do subtle before. It didn’t need theater. It needed a door.
Valentina leaned in, and the scent of her - soap over something sharper, like the fear she’d never fully washed away - hit him.
She didn’t pull back when she noticed he was watching her.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a heartbeat too long, then jerked away as if she’d been burned.