20. Valaria
Valaria
The espresso in my hand has gone cold, untouched since I poured it an hour ago. It trembles slightly as I grip the porcelain too tightly, knuckles white against the dainty floral handle.
Outside the French doors of the villa in Udine, the olive trees sway in the breeze, sunlit and unbothered. I envy them.
Emma steps in from the garden, cheeks flushed from chasing Leo. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and for a moment, I wish I could borrow her serenity. Then she sees my face.
"Didn’t you sleep?”
“Couldn’t.”
“Tell me what’s happened?" she asks gently, voice low but firm.
I set the espresso down. "He lied to me."
Her brow furrows. She doesn’t ask who. She knows.
"Pietro was never just a partner in this operation. He was assigned to handle me. Those were his orders. From the beginning."
Emma crosses the room and sits next to me. Her hands rest in her lap, still, waiting. "And you only just found out?"
I nod, and my laugh comes out jagged. "I should have known. But I let my guard down. I let him in. Emma, I almost fell in love with him."
She gasps slightly, like the word love surprises her. "Val..."
"I won't let it happen again. I'm not that naive girl I used to be, dreaming of some hero to see past my armor. I'm locking it down this time. My heart? I’ve thrown away the key."
Emma studies me, her gaze far too soft for how hard I’m trying to be.
"You don’t get to shut down that easily. Not on me. Not on him. Not on yourself."
I lift my chin. "Never you, Em. But are you telling me to just forgive him?"
"No," she says. "I'm telling you not to confuse hurt with truth. You can feel betrayed and still not see the bigger picture."
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. "Did you know? About his assignment? Did Luca?"
Emma hesitates. And that pause answers more than her words do.
"Luca had seemed... on edge," she says. "More than usual. So, I asked. He told me not to worry because he assigned Pietro to protect you.”
“From what?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. He tries to protect me from knowing all the sordid details, so I won’t worry.”
I roll my eyes. "How very noble."
Emma doesn't rise to my sarcasm. "He has been ramping up security. We have two new guards stationed outside. Even Leo's nanny is an operative now."
I blink. "Seriously? The woman who sings lullabies and knits stuffed giraffes?"
"Her name is Thalia. She did recon in Montenegro before she could drive a car."
I exhale slowly, absorbing it. It makes Pietro’s overprotective hovering, the sudden surveillance drops, the encrypted messages... make more sense. But what exactly does he think he’s protecting me from?
Still, it doesn’t make the hurt go away.
"None of that excuses what he did. Or how I feel. He should have told me. Not let me fall for him under false pretenses."
Emma covers my hand with hers. "Maybe you should trust Pietro. While Luca was earning his reputation as the heartbreaker prince, Pietro was by his side protecting him—nothing more. He told you his feelings are real, so believe him."
I pull my hand back. "I'm going back to what I do best. Crisis control, media spin, the cold clean efficiency of PR. I’m dropping out of this assignment."
Emma’s eyes sharpen. "Don’t."
"Don’t what?"
"Don’t run because you’re hurting. Luca trusts you. And Pietro. More than anyone. You two see what others miss. You ask the questions others are afraid to ask. If we lose that, we’re blind."
I glance toward the window, heart thudding.
"Luca trusts you because you challenge Pietro. Because you’re not blinded by loyalty or tradition. You see threats before they appear. That’s what makes you dangerous. That’s why he assigned Pietro to work with you in the first place."
That stings. I clench my jaw. "I was a risk."
"You were an unknown. Carabinieri on loan to the old guard. Being my cousin wasn’t a feather in your cap, but you’ve more than proved yourself."
I stand, pacing now. The energy is too much to contain. "This is exactly why I hate feelings. They blur everything. I should have stayed cool, distant. I let him crawl under my skin, and now I can't think straight."
Emma rises too. "But you did think straight. You discovered the truth. That was you, Val. Not just the strategist, not just the PR queen—but the woman with instincts. With guts. And maybe, just maybe, with a heart that knows when someone real is trying to reach her."
My voice falters. "He was real—for about a minute. That’s what makes it worse."
Emma steps closer. "Then maybe he deserves another chance. Isn’t that what you told me when Luca was trying to find me?”
“Pietro’s had more than he deserves.”
“But as your handler. Your partner. Not as your lover."
I laugh, bitter and low. "You think there’s a difference?"
"I think there could be."
We stand in silence. The villa hums with summer life outside, birdsong threading through the air. But inside me, it’s storming.
Finally, I whisper, "What if he walks away first?"
"He won’t."
I stare at her. "What if I do?”
“Don’t.”
“What if he breaks me?"
Emma’s expression softens into something achingly familiar. "Then you build yourself back. And next time, you break him a little too. That’s how love works when it's real."
A silence falls between us, but this one isn't empty. It's full of choice. Of risk. Of that maddening, infuriating, impossible man I can’t quite quit.
I sigh. "If I do this, I’m doing it my way. No more secrets. No more games."
Emma smiles. "Then maybe this time, you win. Promise me one thing."
“Just one.”
“Promise that you won’t wreck yourself just to prove he broke you.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
The espresso is still cold. But I pick it up anyway. And this time, I drink it.