Chapter 10
10
DANTE
T he conference room was dimly lit, the heavy oak table polished to a mirror-like sheen. It reflected the tension in the room, amplifying the charged silence that hung between us. Luca leaned back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world, his feet propped on the table, one scuffed boot dangerously close to the edge of Valentina’s pristine folder. His posture was relaxed, but the sharp gleam in his eyes gave him away. He was watching her like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
Rafe, on the other hand, sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled, his entire being radiating cold authority. His gaze never wavered from Valentina, unflinching and unrelenting, like a man ready to rip the truth from her throat if she didn’t offer it willingly. His expression could have frozen hell itself, and yet Valentina didn’t so much as flinch.
She sat across from us, poised and composed, her back straight against the chair, her manicured nails tapping an unhurried rhythm against the armrest. If she was intimidated, she didn’t show it. Her presence was a contradiction—poised and elegant, yet sharp, dangerous. You could almost smell the blood on her hands even as she wore that expensive perfume, the kind that clung to the air long after she left the room.
“We’ve traced the money,” she said finally, her voice smooth and deliberate, like she was delivering the evening’s weather forecast instead of a revelation that could set this entire operation on fire. “It’s in the hands of the Russians.”
My jaw tightened, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. Of course, it was the Russians. It always came back to them. They were like a bad habit that refused to die, always worming their way into our business, always pushing the boundaries of what they could get away with.
Rafe’s voice broke the silence, low and dangerous. “And?”
Valentina’s dark eyes flicked to me for the briefest of moments, her gaze unreadable. Then she leaned forward slightly, her tone calm, measured, and utterly self-assured. “And,” she said, “I’m going to find out who the mole is. I have… connections.”
Luca barked out a laugh, the sound sharp and grating against the tense quiet. “Connections? You mean your Bratva boyfriend?” His smirk was pure arrogance as he tilted his head, daring her to deny it.
Valentina turned her head slowly, pinning Luca with a look that could have peeled paint from the walls. Her lips curved into a smile—small, cold, and calculated. It didn’t touch her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “Nikolai and I haven’t spoken in months.”
“Sure,” Luca drawled, dragging out the word like it was a joke only he found funny. “And I’m the Pope.”
Her smile didn’t falter, but there was a flash of something in her eyes—something sharp and deadly, like a knife she hadn’t yet decided to use. “If you were the Pope, Luca,” she said sweetly, “we’d all be in hell already.”
Rafe’s palm hit the table, the sharp crack cutting through the escalating tension like a gunshot. “Enough,” he snapped, his voice cold and commanding. The room fell silent immediately, all eyes shifting to him. He didn’t tolerate distractions, and he sure as hell didn’t tolerate infighting.
He fixed Valentina with his icy stare, his voice a low growl. “Do what you need to do. But no mistakes. If this comes back on us?—”
“It won’t,” Valentina interrupted smoothly, her tone never wavering. “I know what I’m doing.”
Her confidence was unnerving. She said it like it was indisputable, like her word alone was enough to reassure him. And maybe it was. Rafe didn’t argue, though his jaw clenched slightly as he continued to watch her.
I leaned back in my chair, letting their argument fade into the background. My mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the gnawing feeling in my gut. Valentina was too composed, too calm. She was playing her own game—she always was. Everything about her screamed ulterior motives.
I wouldn’t put it past her to use this situation to pressure me into accepting her father’s marriage contract.
The thought made my stomach churn.
Valentina was beautiful, sure, but she was as cold as the Siberian tundra her Bratva lover hailed from. She had a way of making you feel like you were the one being hunted, even when you were supposed to be in control. And everyone knew she was still stringing along that hedge fund guy. What was his name? Damien? Daniel? It didn’t matter. The guy with the punchable face and the too-perfect suits.
She wasn’t the kind of woman who let go of her options, and she sure as hell wasn’t the kind of woman you wanted to be tied to for life.
No, I wasn’t touching that contract. Not with a ten-foot pole.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just about the Russians or the mole. Valentina always had a bigger picture in mind, one no one else could see until it was too late.
Her connections, her calm, her confidence—it was all part of the game. She was playing chess while the rest of us were still figuring out checkers.
And I hated that it made her dangerous.
Because dangerous was exactly what we needed right now.
My phone buzzed against the table, a subtle vibration that broke through my thoughts. I ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.
Luca, who’d been lounging in his chair like a bored teenager, perked up at the sound. His sharp gaze flicked to me, then to the phone vibrating insistently by my elbow. He arched an eyebrow, his grin widening with pure mischief.
Before I could react, his hand darted out, snatching the phone off the table like a thief in the night.
“What the hell, Luca,” I growled, reaching for it, but he leaned back in his chair, holding it just out of reach.
“Oh, relax,” he said, his tone far too amused for my liking. His thumb was already scrolling through the notifications, his grin stretching wider with every flick of the screen. Then he laughed—loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made my stomach sink because I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever he’d just found.
“Oh, this is gold,” he said, holding up the phone like it was a damn prize. His eyes gleamed with pure delight. “$1,500 at Agent Provocateur? And you, sad sack, don’t even get to see her in it.”
I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding together as Rafe, seated at the head of the table, let out a low chuckle. His lips twitched—barely noticeable, but enough to reveal that even he wasn’t immune to the humor of the situation.
“Careful, brother,” Rafe said, his tone as cool as ever. “She might make you broke. I’d better call the accountant to separate assets before she drains you dry.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, snatching the phone out of Luca’s hand.
But even as I pulled it back, my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t stop myself from scrolling through the notifications, my eyes scanning the list of transactions. Lingerie. More lingerie. A suspicious number of purchases from obscure Russian boutiques. And then?—
“Starbucks mugs?” I said aloud, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Luca, who’d been busy laughing at my expense, froze mid-laugh. His head snapped toward me, his interest piqued. “Wait, what?”
I held up the phone, the screen illuminated with her latest transaction: $200 for a Tokyo Starbucks mug bought from some overpriced reseller.
“She’s buying Starbucks mugs,” I repeated, a laugh rumbling in my chest despite myself.
Rafe arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Mugs? As in… ceramic cups?”
“Apparently,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “She’s building a collection, I guess.”
Luca was practically in tears at this point. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Your fiancée is out here spending your money on overpriced coffee cups while you’re sitting in a meeting about Russian money laundering.”
“Go to hell,” I said, but the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.
Ignoring Luca’s continued cackling, I typed out a message, my fingers flying across the keyboard with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
Me: So, Starbucks mugs? Really?
The response came almost immediately, as if she’d just been waiting for me to take the bait.
Emilia: What can I say? I’m a woman of refined taste.
I smirked, leaning back in my chair as I quickly fired back.
Me: Refined taste? Is that what you call $1,500 worth of lingerie?
There was a pause—a longer one this time—and I imagined her sitting there, trying to come up with a response that would one-up me. Then, finally:
Emilia: A girl’s gotta look good. Not that you’ll ever see it.
I chuckled, shaking my head as I set the phone down on the table.She was impossible. Infuriating. And, damn it, she was good at getting under my skin. No one else would dare to push me like this—to test the boundaries of what I’d allow. But Emilia? She didn’t just push; she barreled through them, leaving chaos in her wake. And I liked it more than I wanted to admit.
“Something funny?” Valentina’s voice sliced through the room like a blade, sharp and cold.
I looked up, meeting her gaze with a smirk. She was watching me intently, her dark eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Nothing you’d understand,” I said, my tone light but deliberately dismissive.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she turned back to Rafe, diving into another explanation about her plan to deal with the Russians.
I tuned her out again, my attention drifting back to the phone in my hand. She was playing games, that much was clear. But what Emilia didn’t realize was that I was playing, too—and I never lost.
I picked up the phone, sending one last message before slipping it back into my pocket.
Me: Careful, princess. Keep this up, and you’ll run out of places to store all your mugs.
Her reply was instant, as if she’d been waiting for the next volley.
Emilia: Don’t worry. I’ll make room. Maybe I’ll start by tossing out that ugly vase in your office.
I barked out a laugh, the sound echoing through the room and earning an exasperated sigh from Valentina.
“Focus, Dante,” Rafe said, his tone sharp and unforgiving, though I caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“Right,” I muttered, slipping the phone back into my pocket.
But my focus was shot. Even as Valentina continued her cold, calculated monologue about her connections and strategies, my thoughts were elsewhere.
She thought she could outmaneuver me. That she could push the limits without consequences.
She thought she’d walked away on her terms. But Emilia didn’t realize that every step she took only brought her deeper into my world. My control. And soon enough, she’d understand what that really meant.