Liars Like Us - Book 1: Legacy of Lies

The night air clung to Valentina’s skin like velvet and smoke as she stepped from the backseat of the hired car.  The Romano casino rose before her, a temple of glass and gold, its neon lights spilling across the pavement like the glow of a thousand sins waiting to be committed.  She adjusted the strap of her black lace dress, the kind that suggested money without screaming it, and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“Miss Bellamy,” the driver murmured, handing her a sleek clutch.

Valentina smiled at Bellamy tonight.  Perhaps Russo tomorrow. Silk dresses often marked identities—you wore them until someone noticed the seam.

Inside, the casino pulsed with heat and noise: the click of roulette balls, the chiming of slot machines, the perfume-clouded laughter of women draped in diamonds that glittered as if they were still wet with blood.  Valentina moved through it all with the calm grace of a predator cloaked in velvet.

She made a slow circuit of the floor. Men turned to look—wealthy bankers, aging mobsters, ambitious little sharks who fancied themselves wolves.  She knew how to smile just enough to invite them closer, and how to tilt her chin so they felt the sting of dismissal when she turned away.

At the baccarat table, she leaned casually against the rail, pretending interest in the game while her eyes catalogued the room in fragments: 

Two guards by the elevator, wearing discreet but obvious earpieces. 

A tray of champagne circulating too frequently near the high-rollers’ lounge—cover for someone moving in and out unseen. 

A man with Romano’s crest on his cufflinks slips into a corridor marked Staff Only.

Her lips curved. The shipment had arrived.

A tall man with flushed cheeks sidled up beside him. “First time in the city?” he asked, voice oily with bourbon and entitlement.

Valentina let her smile flash, quick and sharp.  “Does it look like my first time?”

He chuckled, eager. Valentina touched his arm, leaned close as if sharing a secret, and whispered something about rare pink diamonds she had just acquired.  The lie purred smoothly off her tongue.  He swallowed it whole, dazzled.

As he rambled about his collection, Valentina’s gaze drifted past him, locking for the briefest second on the mirrored wall near the bar. A reflection caught her eye—dark suit, stillness amid chaos, watching her.  Not one of the drunk men,ot one of the guards.

Her pulse skipped, though she kept her smile flawless.

Someone was already watching her.

Valentina let the thought slip to the back of her mind, burying it beneath another flawless smile as the bourbon-soaked man beside her babbled about his yacht.  He thought she was listening. She wasn’t.  Her eyes had already moved on, cataloguing exits, timing the guards’ pacing, memorizing who had the heavy bulge of a concealed weapon and who carried themselves like men who never needed one.

The Romano casino wasn’t like the others she’d worked.  This place breathed danger, its opulence balanced on violence so sharp it hummed through the air like violin strings stretched too tight.

She excused herself with a delicate laugh and glided away, weaving between tables where fortunes were lost and repurchased in a single.b reath She accepted a glass of champagne from a server, letting the bubbles fizz against her tongue, and slipped a folded bill into his palm.

“Tell me,” she said softly, “where does a lady go if she wants a more… exclusive game?”

The server’s eyes flickered, then darted toward the guarded elevator. He pocketed the bill and vanished.   Alentina followed the glance, her pulse steady, her smile unshaken.

She drifted closer, pretending to study a row of slot machines, her reflection catching again in the mirrored paneling.  The same man as before, Broad shoulders, still as stone, eyes fixed not on the games, but on her.

Valentina tilted her glass, pretending interest in the slots, but shifted her weight just enough to watch him in return. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

Interesting.

She let him see her smile before she turned, deliberately careless, toward the elevator.  The guards crossed their arms.

“I’m expected upstairs,” she murmured, sliding a crisp chip worth more than most salaries into one man’s pocket. “Pink diamonds don’t wait for anyone.”

The guard frowned, but the chip disappeared.  After a tense pause, the doors slid open.

Inside, Valentina exhaled, her smile fading just long enough to let her face harden into something sharp. She’d played a bigger risk. The diamonds were close—she could feel it.

But as the elevator began its slow ascent, the mirrored walls offered her one final glance at the casino floor.

He was still watching.

The elevator doors closed, cutting off his gaze, and Valentina found herself staring at her own reflection instead—sharp cheekbones, a mouth painted in blood-red confidence, and eyes that never betrayed a single secret.

She adjusted her clutch, pressed her shoulders back.  Bellamy   Broke. Diamonds.  A lie repeated often enough began to feel like the truth.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal a corridor bathed in low amber light.  It smelled faintly of cigar smoke and bleach. Two guards flanked the end of the hall, and beyond them, a polished door gleamed with the kind of discretion that screamed importance.

Valentina’s heels clicked softly against marble as she approached.  Oneguard raised a hand.

“Private floor.”

Her smile bloomed instantly.  “Which is exactly why I’m here.” She slipped a glossy business card from her clutch—an alias printed in embossed gold.  Isabelle Bellamy, International Jewels Ltd.

The guard studied it, unimpressed. His partner’s gaze, however, lingered longer on her lips than on the car. That one would be easier.

Valentina leaned closer, perfume curling through the air like smoke. “Mr. Romano is expecting me,” she whispered.  “He’s been eager to see what I brought in from Antwerp.  Rare pinks.”

The guard hesitated. She let a sigh escape, low and patient, and brushed her thumb across her lip, leaving a smear of red on the card before sliding it back into his hand.

“Go ahead.” The second guard waved her through, ignoring his partner’s frown.

Valentina’s smile flickered sharp as a blade. Men rarely noticed when they were being played—it was almost disappointing how predictable it could be.

The door opened into another world: a lounge draped in velvet and shadows, thick curtains muffling the din of the casino below.  Two men in tailored suits were counting leather cases on a low table, their voices low and urgent.

She lingered just inside, eyes darting to the cases   Diamond  . Had to be.

“Can I help you?” one man asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.

Valentina let her laugh spill out, rich and amused, as though the very idea of her being questioned was absurd. She strolled forward, heels whispering against the carpet, and perched on the arm of a leather chair as if she owned the room.

“Help me? Darling, you should be asking what I can do for you.”

The men exchanged a wary glance.  One reached for his phone.

Valentina’s hand dipped into her clutch, fingers brushing a tiny vial of powdered glass—her favorite distraction. He was ready to shatter it against the table, to create enough chaos to grab a case and vanish.

But before she could move, the door clicked shut behind her.

The air shifted.

Someone else had stepped inside.

The door shut with a decisive click, the sound instantly pulling the men’s attention from their case. Valentina didn’t turn at once; instead, she let the pause stretch, her fingers brushing her champagne glass as if nothing at all were wrong.

When she finally shifted, her gaze snagged on the figure who now leaned against the closed door.

Dark suit.  Black tie.  No wasted movement. His presence filled the space without effort, as if the air itself deferred to him.

The men stiffened.  “Mr. Romano,” one said quickly, lowering his phone.

Romano.

Valentina’s pulse thrummed, though her smile never faltered. She dipped her chin in acknowledgment, calculating even as her stomach coiled with unease.  So that’s who was watching.

Dante Romano’s eyes swept over her, slow and precise, as if cataloguing every inch of her for future use. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away.  He just…watched, and the silence bent around him like steel.

Valentina forced herself to break it first.   Mr. Romano,” she purred, slipping from the arm of the chair and gliding toward the table.  “You keep your diamonds well-guarded. A woman might almost think you don’t want them admired.”

One of the men frowned. “She said you were expecting her.”

Dante’s lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, more like the thought of one.  “Did she?” His voice was low, velvet dragged across a blade.

Valentina laughed, letting it ring carelessly, though her skin prickled beneath his gaze. “Surely you don’t forget a face so easily.”

She leaned down, brushing her hand across one of the leather cases as if the jewels inside were already hers. Her heart thundered.  The case was warm from the men’s hands, heavy with promise.

Then Dante moved.  Not fast, not loud—just a step closer, and yet it felt like the entire room shifted around him.

“Open it,” he ordered the man nearest the cases. His eyes never left her.

The latch clicked.  The lid lifted.

Diamonds filled the room with fire.  Pink and white stones, sharp and glittering, are scattered in velvet trays.

Valentina’s throat tightened. For one dizzying moment, she wanted to reach out, to bury her fingers in them, to feel the weight of everything she’d ever lied for resting in her palm.

But she didn’t move yet.

Dante watched her watching the stones, his gaze unreadable.  “You know,” he murmured, stepping close enough that she caught the faintest trace of smoke and cedar, “liars don’t last long in this city. They burn out…quickly.”

Valentina’s smile sharpened, all teeth and poise.  “Then you’d better hope I’m not lying, Mr. Romano.”

The diamonds burned between them, and the trap tightened with every glittering breath.

The words left her mouth honey-smooth, but her pulse rattled in her ears.  Dante studied her for a long, unbearable beat, the diamonds blazing between them like witnesses.

Then he laughed—not loudly, not kindly—just a single low sound, like the flick of a match. “Not bad,” he murmured  “, You  had them convinced.” He nodded toward the two suited men, who bristled in confusion.  “Almost had me, too.”

Valentina tilted her head, lips curving. “Almost?”

“Almost.” His eyes gleamed, sharp as glass.  “Except Antwerp hasn’t seen stones like these in over two years.  And Isabelle Bellamy doesn’t exist.”

The floor tilted beneath her, though her smile never faltered. “You’ve been keeping tabs on the European market?”

“I keep tabs on everything,” Dante said, closing the last inch between them. He plucked the forged card from the guard’s pocket, turning it between his fingers before sliding it into his jacket.  “Especially liars who walk into my casino with a story that neat.”

The men exchanged a look. One took a step forward, hand twitching toward her arm.

“No.” Dante’s voice cut through the air. He didn’t raise it, but both men froze.  His gaze stayed on Valentina, unwavering.  “She stays.”

Valentina’s throat tightened.  She’d expected fury, perhaps a bullet in some back alley, not…this.

“Why?” one guard asked.

Dante didn’t bother to look at him. “Because I want to see how long she can keep up the performance.”

His attention flicked back to Valentina, and for the first time, she caught the edge of amusement—dangerous, mocking, but alive.

“You wanted exclusive access?” His tone was a challenge now, a blade drawn across sil. “Then you’ll have it.  You’ll sit at my table, drink my wine, and smile as you belong here.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I decide how quickly liars burn.”

The diamonds glimmered between them, but Valentina understood the real gamble had already begun.