The Game Beneath the Game

VALENTINA

The silence in the war room is suffocating.

Alessandro.

Lorenzo.

Me.

Three bodies.

Three motives.

Too many secrets.

Lorenzo leans against the wall, his arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on Alessandro like a hawk stalking its prey. "You've had this board up for how long? And you never once thought to tell her?"

Alessandro’s jaw tightens. "Because I was still trying to confirm who was playing us."

"Or covering your own tracks?" Lorenzo replies coolly.

“I don’t need to cover anything,” Alessandro growls. “But maybe you do.”

Their voices, low and cold, crackle like electricity between them. I sit in the chair, gripping the edge, my fingernails digging into the cushion.

I’m not even the storm.

I’m just the damn spark.

"Enough," I say, my voice hoarse but steady. "If you two are going to kill each other, do it later. Right now, I want to know where my sister is."

They both go quiet.

Lorenzo’s eyes flick to me. "There’s chatter. She may have been moved to Eastern Europe. There's a shipping manifest connected to your father's offshore partners. A woman matching Bianca's description was loaded onto a private cargo plane in Marseille."

My heart drops.

"A shipping container?" I whisper. "Like she's... like she's nothing?"

“That’s what happens,” Alessandro says darkly, “when you become a pawn in a game bigger than you understand.”

"Then explain it to me," I snap. "Tell me what I don’t understand!"

He steps forward. "You want to know why you're here instead of her? Why you’re wearing a wedding ring that was never meant for you?"

I nod slowly. I want the truth even if it shatters me.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Because your father made sure the marriage deal wouldn't fall apart, no matter what happened to Bianca. The moment she disappeared, he sent you in her place. A last-minute substitute to keep the contract alive."

"I wasn’t told anything," I mutter.

"You weren’t supposed to be. You were thrown into the lion’s den blind." He looks at me with something unreadable in his eyes. "And still, you haven’t backed down."

Lorenzo smirks from the corner. “She’s got more guts than Bianca ever did.”

That earns him a sharp glare from me. "Don't talk about her like she's weak. She was smart. Strong. She just never had a chance to show it."

Alessandro picks up a phone on the table and dials a number. His voice turns cold and commanding. “Activate the surveillance team in Marseille. I want eyes on every airstrip, shipping yard, and safehouse. If anyone moves a girl matching Bianca Russo's profile, I want to know yesterday.”

He hangs up and faces me. “You want in on this, Valentina? No more pretending. No more playing the grieving sister. You’ll be on the front lines with me.”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

His smile is razor sharp. “We’re going to smoke them out.”

Later that night...

A dinner party.

Or, as Alessandro calls it: A trap.

He’s hosting a gathering at the De Luca estate an invitation only event for the upper crust of the underworld. Russian arms dealers. Eastern European smugglers. And one man of interest:

Marcello Bianchi, a logistics kingpin with ties to my father’s import business.

I’m dressed in black. Elegant. Sleek. Weaponless but not powerless.

Alessandro walks beside me, his arm around my waist. A show of unity. Of possession. I’m just another trophy on his arm to the guests... and that’s exactly what we want them to think.

Until I spot him.

Marcello.

Tall. Graying at the temples. Wearing a pin with the same crest I saw in the file from the archives.

He’s laughing with a woman draped in pearls and secrets.

Alessandro leans down. “That’s him. Watch for a tell. A crack. A twitch.”

I nod.

Time to play my part.

I walk up to Marcello like I belong. Like I’ve always belonged. “Mr. Bianchi,” I say sweetly. “Your reputation precedes you.”

He eyes me, amused. “And you must be the new Mrs. De Luca. Word travels fast.”

“Oh, I bet it does.” I sip my champagne. “Especially from Marseille.”

There it is.

A flicker in his eyes.

Barely noticeable but there.

“What business would I have in Marseille?” he asks, casual but cautious.

I smile, sharp and sugary. “Maybe the same kind you had with my father.”

He laughs a little too loudly. “You must be mistaken, cara mia.”

Alessandro slides in beside me. “I find it hard to believe my wife is ever mistaken.”

Marcello stiffens.

Game on.

Minutes later...

The party continues above.

But below Marcello screams.

He’s tied to a chair in the cellar.

Blood on his lip. Fear in his eyes.

Alessandro circles him like a vulture.

“You were at the airstrip in Marseille. You know where she is.”

“I—I only arranged the transport,” Marcello whimpers. “I don’t know who took her after that.”

Alessandro punches the wall inches from his head. “Name. Give me a name.”

Marcello gasps. “There was a codename... ‘Nox.’ That’s all I know!”

Nox.

The Latin word for Night.

It’s not a name. It’s a message.

Lorenzo steps into the room, brows furrowed. “We’ve heard of Nox. High-level ghost contractor. No real identity. Hired for disappearances that leave no trail.”

“Bianca’s a loose end,” I whisper. “They want her gone for good.”

“And now they’ll come after you too,” Lorenzo replies grimly. “You’re not just a substitute anymore, Valentina. You’re bait. And you're next.”

Later, when I’m finally alone in my room, I let the weight crash over me.

The terror.

The rage.

The hunger to survive.

I stare at my reflection. The girl I was is gone.

She died the night my sister vanished.

Now, I’m something else.

I clench my fists.

If Nox wants a ghost, I’ll become a storm.

Let them come.