Chapter 1
one
. . .
Valentina
The gala was exactly what I expected—a waste of an event filled with overdressed liars dripping in stolen wealth, pretending they weren’t all just soaked in blood underneath their diamonds.
I stepped into the ballroom like I owned it, chin high, eyes straight ahead, like had always been drilled into me.
No slouching. No wasted movement that might betray the fact that I didn’t want to be here.
No one truly wanted to be here. Events like these were always for attention and a chance to strut around like there weren’t closets worth of red left in your family’s wake.
A wall of music and low laughter pressed in around me.
The chandelier above was an absurd combination of gold and excess crystal—a perfect mirror of everyone here.
The Moretti name commanded attention the second I entered a room.
The eyes that trailed me weren’t admiring.
Not all of them anyway. Those who knew better were cautious.
Others, calculating. Some feared me. Some hated me.
Some, I was sure, hoped I’d trip in my heels and crack my skull on the marble floor.
I gave them nothing but a poised strut and a practiced smile.
I scanned the room with disinterest. There were real estate moguls, second-generation gangsters, and men in suits pretending their money didn’t come from corpses.
Their wives were draped in fabric, fear, and whatever vice was the newest thing.
I knew the body count behind just about every diamond necklace in this room.
I knew where the bones were buried. Hell, I had helped dig some of the graves, myself.
Camilla appeared at my side, black suit sharp and draped perfectly on her lithe frame.
Her eyes moved like mine did, calculating and assessing the room.
We’d met in college, when I still thought I’d go legit.
Back then, I was still foolish enough to believe that law school would save me from a blood-drenched inheritance.
She saw through me even then, always a silent presence but one that I grew to count on for good reason.
Now she was my assistant and right-hand.
And when necessary, my shadow with the gun.
“You look like you’d rather be shot,” she said under her breath, sipping from her glass of something undoubtedly stronger than champagne.
“I’m reconsidering it by the second,” I replied, offering a polite nod to a passing councilman I knew was laundering bribe money through his family’s church.
Camilla arched a brow. “Thought you’d be glowing, V. You’re engaged now. A solid political alliance with a perfectly boring man. Daddy must be so proud.”
My jaw tensed. “It’s not official until the invitations go out.”
“It’s official enough that your ring is real.” Her voice dipped lower. “You think Luca will be a good little beard?”
“He’ll play his role. And I’ll play mine.” I glanced at her before taking in the room again. “Besides, he has secrets just as precarious as mine.”
Camilla gave me a look—one I’d known for a decade now. The kind that stripped through all my curated coldness. “You’re marrying a man to hold up an empire built on lies, and I’m just supposed to keep booking caterers like we’re not all aware you’d rather set your wedding dress on fire.”
My lips quirked. “The dress is Italian silk, and my nonna picked it out. Burning it would be a waste.”
Camilla opened her mouth, no doubt to tell me about myself, when suddenly her gaze sharpened, sliding past me. “Well, well.”
I turned, already somehow knowing before I saw what or who she was looking at that something was about to change. When I glanced over my shoulder, my breath nearly slammed to a stop.
Nicolette Romano.
She walked in like she hadn’t spent the past ten years haunting me.
She was all effortless swagger and carefully unbothered grace.
Her hair was longer than I remembered, the dark curls tied up and slicked back, a sharp navy suit hugging her like it grew from her like a second skin.
Her plush lips curved into something close to a smirk the second our eyes met.
Time slowed to a painful stop. I’d known she’d be here, logically.
But logic hadn’t prepared me for the punch in my fucking chest. She moved through the room like she owned it, even though this was neutral ground; the kind of place where truces breathed thin air and where enemies smiled and drank champagne beside each other while dreaming of blood.
But Nico, she didn’t fake a single smile.
Her eyes glided past people, categorizing them easily and sparing most no mind.
She had always been like that, even when we were girls.
It was unnerving to recognize her mannerisms even now, when so much time had passed.
Camilla’s voice was amused when she spoke again. “Should I get the fire extinguisher or let you two burn each other alive?”
I didn’t answer. Turning tail and running the other way had never been my M.O.
I ran into things head-on unless they required a more tactical approach.
It was what my mother had taught me. Being a Black woman married to the heir of an Italian family with an empire that was well-known in certain circles hadn’t been easy.
If she had shown weakness, she would have been trampled all over.
But Debra Moretti was no one’s fainting flower, and she had instilled in me the same take no shit countenance that had her looked at not just as my father’s wife, but as a force to watch yourself around too.
I planned on following in her footsteps.
“I’ll be right back,” I said before handing Camilla my glass and walking toward the fire that was Nico and our history.
The crowd seemed to part, as if it could sense the weight between us from the past that had been brought to the present.
We’d been barely eighteen back when things went wrong, both running from the inevitabilities that were our futures.
We had a hurricane of secrets in our school uniforms while we spent nights in our dorm rooms with the door locked.
Once, we had risked a kiss in a chapel hallway.
I sometimes still felt it when the sun went down and I laid in bed alone.
I swear I could feel the moment Nico saw me coming.
There was a sudden stiffness in the way she held herself, as if she was trying not to breathe too deeply.
Still, she didn’t move, nor did she flinch.
She just stood there, a drink in one hand and the other hand in her jacket pocket.
For a moment, I wondered if she was packing.
The thought had me snorting softly. This was neutral ground, and I doubted that Nico would risk starting a war with so many people in attendance.
I couldn’t stop the way my gaze ran over her as she stood there like she had all the time in the world.
“Valentina Moretti,” she said slowly, voice like honey and rust as if she were savoring my name on her tongue. “Still walking like you’re about to order someone’s execution.”
I stopped just close enough that I could smell her perfume; the notes of sandalwood and smoke tickling my nose and coating my lungs.
She smelled wild and dangerous, a mix that I unfortunately found more than a little tempting.
“Nicolette Romano,” I returned evenly. “Still talking like you want someone to try.”
She tilted her head; a smirk stamped on her lips. “You look different.”
“So do you.”
She laughed, low and a little dangerous, and I had to fight not to shiver as the sound washed over me. “Guess we grew up.”
“I suppose so,” I replied. “Some of us grew into set legacies while others carved our own.”
“Is that so? I carved mine with my nails and teeth,” she said, her smile never touching her eyes. “Did daddy finally let you off the leash?”
“Did yours finally let you take the reins, or are you still fighting your brothers for a share of the table scraps?”
Nico’s smile sharpened. “I own the table, princess. I don’t need to share anything.”
The air between us hummed, electric and heavy with history. We’d been girls when we last stood this close. Girls who kissed in the dark and traded secrets in school hallways. Girls who were told we would inherit power, but only if we did it quietly, and only if we obeyed.
We weren’t girls anymore.
“So, engaged, huh?” She asked, eyes flicking to my left hand. The question sounded more like a statement. “I heard you were planning to let someone make an honest woman out of you. What’s his name?”
I didn’t want to answer her, though another part of me wondered if it would get a rise out of her. She was always so pretty when she cracked and showed how jealous she could get. “Luca.”
“Luca,” she said slowly, tongue moving like she was tasting the sound. “How perfectly boring.”
“It’s strategic.”
“It’s bullshit.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t have to. We both knew men held no sway over me, but I wasn’t lying.
This was strategic—a play to get ahead of things before someone else made decisions for me.
I didn’t have the privilege of waiting to see how life played out for me.
If I wanted to take charge, I had to be proactive.
Nico stepped forward, just half a breath closer. “You still pretending you don’t want something else?”
“I’m pretending I have a choice.”
Her gaze searched mine, something unreadable flickering there. “You never did like being told what to do.”
I leaned in, voice low. “And you never liked anyone who could keep up.”
“Maybe I’m still waiting for someone who can.
” Her voice dropped just enough to wrap around me like silk, reminding me of nights I’d tried to forget.
Nights where she’d snuck into my room, mouth tasting like cinnamon gum and rebellion.
Where we’d kissed like we could break the world apart and rebuild it better with our hands.
“Waiting?” I asked, baiting her to reveal more. But she raised an eyebrow instead before taking a sip of her drink.
“Yes,” she answered simply before our attention was caught by someone calling her name. When her gaze left mine, I wanted to scream out in rage at her thinking of anything and anyone but me. When her eyes met mine again, they had a knowing glint.
“Duty calls.” She stepped forward, reaching for my hand before I could move. She brought it up, gaze not leaving mine as she brushed her lips over the back of my hand. “I’m back now, so we should catch up sometime very soon.”
She left first because, of course, she did. I probably deserved it, given how we ended. I stood there for a long moment, feeling every memory I’d buried like a body.
When Camilla returned to my side, I tried to ignore her smug expression. “So. How’d the reunion go?”
I didn’t look at her. “Like a spark in a powder keg.”
She snorted softly before taking a sip of her drink. “Can’t wait to see what explodes.”
I turned back to the ballroom, trying to reorient myself, but the rest of the room had dulled. The lights seemed dimmer and the music slower, but maybe it was just me.
Camilla nudged me with her shoulder. “You need a drink or a distraction?”
“Neither,” I said, voice flat as I struggled with the thoughts running through my head. “I need control.”
She hummed. “Well. You’re in the wrong room for that.”