Chapter 13 The Poisoned Handshake #2
Valentina’s voice lowered. “The Shadows have enemies who like theater.”
Enzo’s gaze dropped to his gloved fingers. The sheen on the swab holder looked almost theatrical under the light - like something meant to be seen. Like a signature pressed into the page.
“Not theater,” he said. “Rehearsal.”
Valentina swallowed. “You’re saying they practiced.”
“I’m saying they’ve done it before.” Enzo picked up the analysis strip again. It reacted with a slow, deliberate shift - the kind of response that didn’t happen by accident. “And the timing is wrong.”
Valentina’s frown deepened. “Timing is wrong how?”
Enzo rubbed the pad of his thumb against his glove seam, buying himself a second to choose his words.
“The handshake ritual is supposed to trigger a reaction at a specific interval - after the skin-to-skin contact. After the courtesy. It’s meant to be slow enough that the victim doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. ”
Valentina’s voice tightened. “So this wasn’t the correct interval.”
“No.” Enzo looked up. “The notary died faster than the signature predicts.”
Valentina stared at him for a long beat. “Then what does that mean?”
“It means someone tried to adapt it,” Enzo said. “Or they used it in a different location. Different contact. Different delivery medium.”
Valentina’s shoulders rose and fell. Her anger was back, but it had changed shape. Grief still sat at the edges of her expression, but now it had a target.
“Adapted by who?” she asked.
Enzo’s mouth went dry. He didn’t want to say the name that sat like a stone in his memory - Greco’s liaison, the intermediary, the mastermind behind the corridor intrusion. He didn’t want to give her a guess she’d run with so hard it would get her killed.
But she needed direction, not vague caution.
“By someone who knows the technique,” he said. “Someone who knows The Shadows’ habits well enough to mirror them.”
Valentina’s gaze sharpened. “Like the alliance’s legal arm being compromised.”
Enzo didn’t deny it. He couldn’t afford to. “Like that.”
A sound from the front of the clinic - footsteps, muted voices - made Valentina flinch. Enzo shifted his body to block her from view of the door. He didn’t touch her, but his presence became a wall. A promise without words.
Valentina’s breath came faster. “How much time do we have?”
Enzo looked at the analysis kit’s small display. It wasn’t a lab machine designed for drama. It was a tool. It gave him what he needed and refused to give him comfort.
“Enough to confirm the source,” he said. “Not enough to celebrate.”
Valentina’s eyes flicked to the routing authorization in his other hand. The paper seemed to pulse with importance. With danger.
Enzo turned it over and checked the routing stamp, the faint indent where the seal had been pressed.
The stamp had been smudged earlier in the warehouse office.
He’d noticed it. Valentina had noticed it too, but she’d been too angry to let it sink into her thoughts.
Now it was just another symptom of a deeper pattern - someone had been rearranging the rules around them.
He set the authorization down on the counter, then reached for the cloth to wipe the surface. Under the light, he saw something he hadn’t expected: a faint speck on the underside of the paper’s fold. Not ink. Not dust.
Residue. The same oily sheen he’d seen on the swab.
Valentina’s head snapped up. “What is that?”
Enzo’s voice went flat. “It touched something.”
Valentina’s eyes widened. “The notary?”
“No.” Enzo’s mind ran backward. The notary’s confession. The routing authorization. The way Valentina had held it. The way someone could get close enough to smear a stamp without being seen.
“Greco’s intermediary,” Valentina guessed, voice tight.
Enzo shook his head once. “Not necessarily. Whoever is rehearsing this technique isn’t just poisoning bodies. They’re poisoning trust. They want us to connect dots in the wrong order.”
Valentina stared at the residue speck like it was a personal insult. “Then why leave a signature at all?”
Enzo’s hands paused mid-wipe. “Because they want us to recognize it.”
Valentina’s expression twisted. “Or they want someone else to recognize it.”
Enzo met her gaze. “Yes.”
The room felt smaller. The hum of refrigeration units suddenly sounded like a countdown.
Valentina stepped closer to the counter, careful now, as if the air might be contaminated. “So the handshake ritual - if it’s real - how do they deliver it?”
Enzo hesitated. Vulnerability wasn’t just romantic.
It was how he handled information. If he gave her details she could use, he risked her walking into a trap armed with partial knowledge.
But she was already in the trap. The only choice left was whether he’d keep her ignorant to preserve his control, or share enough truth to help her survive.
He chose truth.
“They don’t need a cup,” he said. “They use proximity. Skin contact. Something that looks like consent.”
Valentina’s jaw clenched. “A handshake.”
“A handshake,” Enzo confirmed. “Or the illusion of one. A touch on the hand. Fingers brushing. A hand over a sealed folder while someone compliments you. Courteous contact.”
Valentina’s eyes flickered to his glove-wrapped hand, then away. “You’re thinking the notary was poisoned during the exchange.”
“Yes,” Enzo said. “And the timing mismatch tells me they didn’t use the full ritual. They condensed it. Or they switched the trigger.”
Valentina’s lips parted slightly. “Switched the trigger to what?”
Enzo’s mind went back to the dead notary’s hands. To the way he’d looked at his fingertips, like he couldn’t remember how to hold them. To the confession that had been half-true, half-coerced.
He looked at Valentina. “He died with a story he hadn’t finished.”
Valentina’s gaze sharpened. “You said that.”
“I think someone made sure he died before he could correct the narrative,” Enzo continued. “But the poison signature was meant to last longer. Which means they changed something in the delivery.”
Valentina’s voice dropped. “The delivery method changed.”
“Yes.” Enzo’s throat tightened. “And that means the mastermind isn’t relying on one route. They’re testing variants. Trying to find what gets The Shadows to respond predictably.”
Valentina’s nails dug into the edge of the counter. “You’re telling me they’re studying you.”
Enzo’s chest went tight at the word you. It implied she believed she was part of the study too. It implied she was involved in the pattern.
He wasn’t used to feeling that kind of inclusion - dangerous, intimate, and unfair.
“I don’t like being predictable,” he said instead.
Valentina’s eyes flashed with something possessive and furious. “Then don’t be.”
Footsteps approached again, closer this time. A knock sounded on the clinic backroom door - three measured taps. Enzo didn’t move toward it. He didn’t trust anyone who could walk in after the notary’s death without knowing exactly what he’d find.
Valentina’s body went alert. Her gaze cut to the door. “Who is it?”
A voice filtered through - male, low, careful. “Enzo? The supplies. The tech said you asked for - ”
Enzo’s gaze didn’t leave the door. “Leave them outside.”
Silence, then the soft scrape of something placed on the floor. After a pause, the footsteps receded. Whoever it was had complied without argument.
Enzo exhaled slowly. “We’re not alone.”
Valentina turned toward him, eyes narrowed. “You think they’re watching.”
“I think they’re listening,” he corrected. “And I think they’re eager to see how I handle you.”
Valentina’s lips pressed together. “Because I’m the legal arm. Because I’m the one with documents.”
Enzo nodded. “Because you’re valuable.”
The word valuable should have made her feel powerful. It did, for a moment. Then she looked away, like the label scraped.
“Say it,” she demanded quietly. “Tell me what you’re not saying.”
Enzo’s gloves squeaked slightly as he adjusted his grip on the swabs. He could feel the internal barrier he’d been building all day: the choice to keep her in the dark versus the cost of letting her carry the truth alone.
He’d always lived on control. Control was armor. Control was how he survived betrayal after betrayal.
But Valentina wasn’t a man he could bully into safety. She was a woman who’d refused an escort because she’d refused to be treated like a piece on a board. If he tried to control her now, she’d fight him - and he wouldn’t win that fight with force.
He had to win with honesty.
“I’m not only analyzing poison,” Enzo said. “I’m analyzing the mastermind’s intention.”
Valentina’s gaze snapped back to his face. “And?”
“And the handshake signature isn’t the poison itself,” he continued. “It’s the method of access. It’s how they get close enough to introduce something into your system or your paperwork.”
Valentina’s throat moved. “So the next target is… me again.”
Enzo hesitated - one beat too long. Her eyes caught it. Her anger flared.
“You’re stalling,” she accused.
“No,” he said, sharper than he meant to be. He forced his voice down. “You’re a target already. But I’m trying to figure out what they’ll do next.”
Valentina stepped closer, her voice quiet and deadly. “Tell me what you know.”
Enzo looked at the residue on the routing authorization again. “The paper touched something contaminated. That means they’re not just poisoning bodies. They’re contaminating the transfer chain.”
Valentina’s eyes widened slightly. “Chain-of-custody.”
“Yes.” Enzo nodded. “And if they can poison the chain, they can poison the proof. They can make our evidence collapse under scrutiny.”
Valentina’s hands tightened around nothing again. “So the sealed pact isn’t just in danger of being stolen. It’s in danger of being discredited.”
Enzo’s stomach turned. “Exactly.”
Valentina’s voice went thin. “Then what about the trapdoor clause?”