14. Valaria
Valaria
Ineed air.
Fresh air.
Not because my lungs ache for it, they do.
But because Pietro is watching me like I’m the mission now. I don’t know how to breathe when he looks at me like that.
I slip through the curtained archway onto the side terrace. Dodging him—if even for a moment. Moonlight spills across the marble, silent and cold. I press my hands to the stone railing and let myself feel it.
The burn in my chest. The questions I won’t ask.
I hear the click of heels behind me—lighter than mine.
I turn, startled.
“Trying to sneak off before the pastry tower?”
Emma.
Hair swept in a low chignon, skin radiant, effortless elegance. It’s not the diamond tiara I notice. It’s the sparkle in her eyes that floors me. My cousin—my childhood partner in crime—looks... happy. Real happy.
“Did you tell them to spike the champagne?” I ask.
“Only the flutes I gave to dignitaries who voted against paid maternity leave.”
We both laugh.
She pulls me into a hug. It’s brief, but it centers me.
“You okay?” she asks, searching my face.
I almost lie.
But I don’t.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“Is it Pietro?”
I freeze.
“Luca said he saw something in your eyes. A kind of haunted softness like you’re either about to fall in love or burn something down.”
“Maybe both,” I say, voice thin.
She exhales a sigh of understanding. “He’s dangerous. But you are too.”
Before I can answer, voices drift from beyond the hedge lining the terrace.
Two men. One sharp, clipped. A voice I recognize but can’t quite place.
“...she won’t suspect a thing—until we’ve got her cornered. She’s too busy playing the lover.”
And then?—
“Lorenzo, my eye. It’s Cucinotta. He’s soft. One night in bed with the mark struck him blind. We clip Prince Charming easy.”
Ice stabs my gut.
Emma places her hand over her mouth with a gasp.
I motion to Emma—quiet.
We edge closer. Careful. The voices vanish.
I round the corner but find no one.
Gone. Like smoke.
But the words stay.
Clip Prince Charming.
Cucinotta’s soft.
One night in bed with the mark.
The mark? Were they talking about me?
Emma touches my shoulder. “Val. . .I can’t lose Luca.”
I turn to see the tears in her eyes—the fear.
“I promise you won’t. I need to find Pietro.”
And suddenly, I’m not sure if it’s to warn him.
Confront him. Or kill him.
Emma’s fingers linger on my shoulder.
“We’ll protect Luca. Both of you. I promise.” I pull her into a hug. She lays her head on my shoulder, crying softly. The terrace suddenly feels too open. Too exposed.
My thoughts are already racing ahead, trying to stitch sense out of the threat, the betrayal.
Did Pietro know they were watching? Did he know he was being used?
Or worse—was he in on it?
My heart hammers with each possibility. I can still hear their voices—phantom echoes slipping like chains around my ankles. I trusted him. I wanted to trust him. He’s compromised. Missed the threat against Luca.
“Valaria.” Emma’s voice is soft, but firm. “You need to breathe.”
“I can’t,” I snap, before I can leash the bite. I regret it instantly. “I’m sorry. I just—if what they said is true…Pietro’s lost his edge.”
“Then you’ll deal with it,” she says, unwavering. “You always do. Don’t go in assuming he’s guilty. He’s never failed us.”
My jaw tightens.
I want to believe her. But the truth is, Pietro’s eyes have been a battlefield since the day we met—smoke and fire and something I can’t read. If he’s been playing me, he’s a master of it.
I turn on my heel. “I’m going to find him. He has to know about the threat against Luca.”
I pull her with me. Find security. Nod to them. “Keep your eyes on her.”
Heart pounding, I slip into the corridor—tap my earring to contact Pietro.
The battery-pack is dead.