Chapter 7
SEVEN
ENRICO FERRARA
I’ve never liked small towns.
They have an irritating way of looking perfect—peaceful streets, old buildings, people smiling like they don’t have real problems. It’s a facade.
I know that better than most.
Under the quiet surface, there’s always something rotten. Something hidden. Something waiting for the right moment to crawl out.
Tiradentes was no different.
My driver slowed as we entered the historic center. The uneven cobblestones forced the car into an even slower crawl, the leather seat shifting beneath me with every bump.
My patience—already scarce—was hanging by a thread.
I checked my watch, irritated by the delay.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ferrara,” my assistant, Pedro, murmured beside me, his tone uneasy. “City hall is just up ahead. It shouldn’t take long.”
“It had better not,” I replied coldly. “I didn’t come all the way to this town to waste time. Handle whatever needs handling, Pedro.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the car inched forward, movement up ahead caught my attention.
The narrow street leading directly to city hall was partially blocked by a crowd of protesters holding handmade signs, chanting with visible enthusiasm.
My jaw set instantly, irritation sharpening into controlled anger.
“What is this?” I asked quietly—my voice low, measured, and far more dangerous than any shouting would have been.
Pedro shifted uncomfortably, staring out the window.
“It looks like they found out about your meeting with the mayor. There were rumors in town, but I didn’t think it would get to this.”
“Rumors,” I repeated, flat. “You should’ve contained it before it became a problem.”
My gaze cut to him like a blade.
“Fix it. Now.”
Pedro nodded quickly, pushed the door open, and stepped out to negotiate. I watched through the tinted glass as he spoke, gestured, attempted reason—getting nowhere.
My control wore thinner with every second.
I hated this. I didn’t have time or interest in dealing personally with inconveniences this small. But this meeting mattered—for Dreamland, for Eloá—and I couldn’t afford failure. Not even here.
When Pedro returned, his face was tense, almost pale.
“Mr. Ferrara… I’m sorry. They’re refusing to move. They won’t let the car through.” His voice dropped. “They’re demanding to speak with you directly.”
Anger flared sharp and silent inside me.
I inhaled slowly, containing the almost overwhelming urge to explode.
I don’t lose control.
Not ever.
“Fine,” I said with icy calm, straightening the cuffs of my jacket. “If they want to speak to me so badly, they’ll get exactly that.”
I stepped out of the car with measured precision, letting my posture and presence do what they always did—command space. Command attention.
The crowd’s chanting faltered.
Faces turned.
Their surprise was almost satisfying.
I surveyed them with absolute cold, registering hesitation, insecurity—and, in some, the first flicker of fear.
I was almost pleased.
And then my eyes landed on a woman standing rigidly with her back to me.
She held a sign so tightly it looked like her fingers might puncture the cardboard.
Something inside me stalled.
My body went still.
Breath trapped in my chest as a violent, impossible familiarity sliced through me.
No.
It couldn’t—
The woman turned slowly, as if she felt it too. As if something inevitable was dragging her around.
And when our eyes met, the world imploded.
It hit like a brutal punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs.
Valentina.
Her name echoed inside my head with horrifying clarity—just as it had the day I left her in that church.
Five years.
Five years without seeing her. Without hearing her voice. Without allowing myself to look directly at her in my mind.
Five years trying to erase her face from my memory, my life.
And now she was standing in front of me, staring back with wide, shocked eyes—eyes full of pain and disbelief.
She had changed very little.
Older, yes. Stronger. More composed.
And somehow even more beautiful than before.
The same intense eyes. The same delicate face. The same mouth I once kissed with obsession.
Something raw and violent opened in my chest—unwanted, unexpected.
That face shouldn’t mean anything anymore.
That woman had no place in my world.
She was a liar. A traitor. A stain.
So why the hell did my pulse feel out of control?
Why did my throat tighten while heat—dangerous, sharp—flooded through me?
“Enrico…?” she whispered, disbelieving.
And something in me reacted violently to the sound of her voice—fragile and stunned.
That single whisper was enough to unleash a near irrational fury through every part of me.
How dare she.
How dare she stand there—breathing the same air as me—confronting me like she had the right.
I straightened, my expression snapping back into the cold, absolute control I wore like armor. I folded my arms across my chest and looked at her with a smile that was pure ice.
“Well, well… Valentina,” I said softly, venom wrapped in silk. “Looks like you finally found your place.” My gaze flicked to her sign, then back to her face. “Fighting to defend ruins—exactly what you’ve always been.”
Pain cut across her beautiful face. Her eyes glittered with tears she refused to shed.
Good.
I wanted her to feel what I had felt when I saw those damn photos years ago.
And even now, after all this time, I was burning—caught in a silent, brutal chaos that threatened every carefully constructed limit I’d built over the years… just because she was standing here.
Valentina was right in front of me, dragging everything I hated about my past back to life.
And it wouldn’t go unpunished.
I had warned her never to appear in front of me again.
And here she was—defying me.
Then she could pay the price.
I wouldn’t settle for unshed tears.
I would have her desperation.
I would have her pain.
I would have her destruction.