A Dangerous Beginning

Valentina.

The silence in the room is a living thing.

Alessandro leans against his massive desk, arms crossed, eyes like loaded weapons fixed on me. The tension is sharp enough to bleed.

“I don’t care why you’re here,” he says at last, voice cold. “But understand something, Valentina. This marriage isn’t about feelings. It’s about control. My control.”

I smirk, masking the tremble in my gut. “So why don’t you start acting like you’re in control, then? Because all I see is a man who got played.”

The air shifts.

In two long strides, he’s in front of me. Too close. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warning in his presence.

“Don’t mistake survival for power, Mrs. De Luca,” he says lowly. “You think you’re clever, showing up in Bianca’s place? You think you’re winning something?”

I hold his gaze. “I didn’t come here to win. I came here because I was forced.”

His eyes flicker just for a heartbeat. But it’s enough.

So he didn’t know I was just a replacement bride until I walked down the aisle.

Good.

He steps away, jaw tight. “You’ll stay in your room. No wandering. No questions. No talking to Lorenzo.”

Ah. So he noticed.

“Why? Afraid I’ll like him better?”

He stops mid-stride. Turns. Slowly.

“There’s a reason he’s not the one in charge,” Alessandro says with a hint of venom. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Hours later, I sit on the edge of a velvet-draped bed in the east wing of the De Luca estate. I haven’t seen Alessandro since he stormed out of the office. The mansion is silent, but not peaceful more like the pause before a gunfight.

I pace the room, restless. My thoughts race.

Where is Bianca?

And why hasn’t anyone mentioned a search?

I crack the door. Two guards stand outside.

So much for freedom.

I grab a pen from the bedside drawer and flip to the inside cover of a book The Art of War. How fitting.

I begin scribbling clues. Observations.

Alessandro didn't know.

Lorenzo does.

Bianca’s disappearance = deliberate?

I’m being watched.

The sound of footsteps draws me to the window. Below, in the courtyard, several men in black suits gather beside two cars.

Something’s happening.

And then I see him Alessandro. Speaking quickly into a phone, motioning toward the cars. His expression is tight, focused. He’s going somewhere dangerous.

I need to know why.

I tiptoe back and grab a pair of flats. No heels tonight.

Time to break a rule.

I slip out a side hall window and scale down the trellis thank God for boarding school rebellion. I land in the garden and duck low, weaving between hedges until I reach the garage.

Three blacked-out SUVs roar to life.

I crouch and wait… and then slip into the back of the last one. Hidden beneath a tarp. My heart pounds.

The car speeds off.

Twenty minutes of silence. Then,

“Take out the target. Leave no trace.”

Alessandro’s voice. Clear. Ruthless.

A chill runs down my spine.

Target?

I lift the tarp slightly. The road is dark, rural. We’re far from the city now. The SUV slows as we reach an abandoned warehouse.

Alessandro steps out. So do three men with rifles.

They’re here to kill someone.

I move quietly, slipping out and staying low behind a rusted barrel. I inch forward until I see what they’re after.

A man hooded, handcuffed, bloodied is dragged into the warehouse.

Alessandro follows.

I sneak along the outer wall, heart pounding, and press my ear against a crack.

“You think you can lie to me and live?” Alessandro’s voice is razor sharp.

The man whimpers. “I-I didn’t know she was your bride! I was just paid to drive her

My blood freezes.

Was he talking about Bianca?

I hold my breath.

“You’re going to tell me everything,” Alessandro growls. “Where you took her. Who gave the order. Or I swear, I’ll carve it out of you inch by inch.”

The man sobs. “She said she’d kill me if I talked…”

A silence. Then a sickening crack.

I jump, pressing a hand to my mouth.

When Alessandro emerges minutes later, blood stains his shirt.

He stops suddenly.

Looks around.

Then… turns toward the barrel I’m hiding behind.

No.

No way.

He walks straight toward me, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve got five seconds to explain why you’re here,” he says, pulling a gun from his belt and aiming it right at me. “Before I assume you’re another traitor.”

My heart pounds.

My mouth opens.

And nothing comes out.