Chapter 3

The safehouse smelled of dust, gun oil, and rain.

Valerie slammed the heavy iron door shut, throwing three deadbolts and dropping a reinforced security bar into place. Her hands, usually steady enough to perform surgery, shook visibly. She turned around, leaning her back against the door, her chest heaving as she stared at the woman standing in the center of the dimly lit room.

Alessia Moretti looked like a fallen god. Her sleek Kevlar armor was smeared with soot and grime, her dark hair tangled, and a deep laceration on her left shoulder was leaking dark, crimson blood onto the floorboards.

But it was her eyes that pinned Valerie to the wall. They weren't the eyes of Alia from the lounge. They were the eyes of a monarch who had just watched her world burn—and found out her lover held the match.

"Touch me," Alessia whispered, her voice dangerously quiet as Valerie stepped forward with a medical kit, "and I will use whatever strength I have left to tear your throat out."

Valerie stopped in her tracks, letting out a breath that felt like glass. "You're bleeding out, Alessia. The rival hit squads used armor-piercing rounds. If I don't stitch that shoulder, you won't survive the night."

"And why do you care?" Alessia spat, a bitter, humorless laugh escaping her lips. She staggered backward, collapsing heavily into a wooden chair. "You were the one who blew up my car. You were the one who put a bullet through my window. Was the lounge just a joke to you? A sick game to lower my guard?"

"I didn't know!" Valerie shouted, the professional calm she had cultivated for a decade completely snapping. She dropped the medical kit onto the table with a loud clatter. "I took a blind contract on the Moretti Queen. I was told you were a woman in a VIP booth, surrounded by suits. That’s who I was tracking. When I sat down with you at that table, I thought you were just a beautiful civilian trying to hide from the noise. I didn't know who you were until I ripped that helmet off your head."

Alessia stared at her, her jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in her neck strained. "You expect me to believe that the underworld's deadliest phantom just happened to fall into my lap?"

"Destiny is a sadistic bastard, Alessia," Valerie said, her voice dropping to a raw, painful whisper. She walked over, slowly sinking to her knees a few feet away from Alessia's chair, entirely defenseless. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have dragged you into my vehicle under a hail of gunfire. I wouldn't have brought you to the only place in this city where I am safe. I would have left you in that canal to let the rivals finish the job."

Alessia looked down at Valerie. The anger in her eyes didn't vanish, but it fractured, revealing the deep, agonizing betrayal underneath. She looked at the medical kit, then back at Valerie's face. The blood loss was making her dizzy; her skin was turning dangerously pale.

"If you try anything," Alessia muttered, leaning her head back against the chair and closing her eyes, "I'll kill you. I swear it."

"Fair enough," Valerie murmured.

She moved with practiced efficiency, cutting away the torn Kevlar around Alessia's shoulder. She worked in silence, pouring antiseptic over the wound. Alessia hissed, her fingers gripping the wooden armrests so hard her knuckles turned white, but she didn't cry out. Valerie threaded a curved needle, her movements incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence they had shared an hour prior.

As Valerie leaned close to pull the first stitch tight, she could feel the warmth of Alessia's breath against her neck. The scent of jasmine was still there, buried beneath the smell of smoke and copper.

"Why didn't you leave the family business?" Valerie asked softly, trying to keep Alessia conscious. "You told me in the lounge you never wanted it."

"Because if I didn't take the throne, my uncles would have carved this city into a warzone," Alessia whispered, her eyes fluttered open, unfocused but intense. "My father died to keep a fragile peace. I didn't want the crown, Val. But I couldn't let his legacy become a bloodbath." She paused, a tear finally cutting a clean line through the soot on her cheek. "I thought... I thought you were the only real thing I had left. The only person who didn't want a piece of my crown."

Valerie’s heart shattered. She pulled the final knot tight, cutting the thread. She didn't pull away. Instead, she stayed on her knees, looking up at the Queen.

"The woman in the lounge was real, Alessia," Valerie said, her voice trembling. "Val is real. I didn't love a queen. I loved you."

Alessia reached out with her uninjured arm, her fingers trembling as she grabbed the collar of Valerie’s tactical vest, pulling the assassin close until their forehead met. They breathed in each other’s air, caught in a terrifying space between profound hatred and desperate, undeniable love.

Before Alessia could speak, the secure terminal on Valerie's desk chimed. A red light began to flash, casting a bloody glow across the safehouse walls.

The tracker on Valerie's getaway vehicle had just been pinged. They weren't alone anymore.