เข้าสู่ระบบThe knock came just after nine the next morning. Valentina was still in her robe, curled against her pillows with a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders, flipping half-heartedly through an unread book. She didn't bother to call out. Olive pushed the door open without waiting.“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. This came in through a courier this morning. Personal delivery.” Olive stepped in with a dark green envelope in hand. No sender name on it, but the seal had the emblem of the Vescari Foundation pressed into the back.Valentina took it and turned it over in her palm. “Charity event?” she asked under her breath, already tugging the flap open.Olive, still standing there, nodded. &ld
Before she could ask what he meant her phone buzzed on the bed, after a quick glance she declined the call.Few seconds later it rang again.She didn’t reach for it right away. It lit up briefly, faint light spilling across the sheets before going black again. She didn’t need to check. The name alone was enough to make her stomach tighten.She stared ahead, her arms crossed loosely over her middle, and let it pass.Lucas, still sitting of his chair with one ankle hooked over his knee, turned his head slightly. He wondered who it was that made her expression fall so fast.The phone buzzed a second time.
Lucas didn’t spare her a glance as he grabbed a chair from beside the desk and dragged it over, the scraping sound against the floor making her flinch. He sat and fixed his gaze on her like he wasn’t sure whether to start yelling or say something worse.Then he sat, resting one arm on the edge of the chair.“At this rate, if we don’t get this over with,” he muttered, “you’re going to cause another trouble.”She blinked, her mouth parting slightly trying to understand what he meant by that.“What…?” she breathed, trying to make sense of it.
Lucas remained at the top of the staircase for a few seconds, watching as they crossed the hallway and stepped out into the sunlit driveway. He walked down slowly, his expression unreadable. The men turned back to shake his hand, each offering a courteous nod before they disappeared outside the door. Ignoring both women.“Go wait upstairs,” he said to Valentina, eyes not sparing her a glance longer than a second.Her throat tightened and she reluctantly gave a small nod, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from saying anything she might regret. Her feet moved almost automatically, and she didn’t stop until she was back in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed with her palms flat against her thighs. Her heart raced for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, was it sha
She was just halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rang, and the sound echoed a little too loudly in the quiet house, pulling her out of her thoughts. For a second, she paused, unsure whether to ignore it. But the ringing came again, impatient this time.She opened the door — and nearly rolled her eyes into another lifetime.What the fuck was Bianca doing here?The woman looked exactly like someone whose life had been dipped in gold and soaked in blood. She wore a silk blouse tucked into high-waisted tailored pants, a pair of red-bottom heels, and designer sunglasses perched on her forehead despite the indoor lighting. If someone were to paint a portrait of a rich drug lord’s widow, Bianca would be the perfect muse, Then she was married to a drug lord and became one herself when her husband was brutally and gruesomely murdered by whoever.It wasn't new story, everyone already knew by now what went down and even at this year and days, half of Italy still has suspicions, they still
Lucas was asleep when she crept in quietly, the tray balanced carefully in her hands as she pushed the door open with her shoulder. His room was dim, the curtains drawn halfway, allowing the morning light to slip in just enough to paint soft shadows across the floor. His breathing was deep and steady, his body still, the bedsheet loosely covering his frame. She shut the door slowly behind her and tiptoed across the room, setting the tray gently on the nightstand. The first aid kit was neatly tucked at the side of the plate, the glass of juice still cold with condensation, a small bowl of grapes resting beside it. The previous breakfast was still, she didn’t expect him to eat anyway, not after everything, but it felt right to bring something anyway.She stood there for a second, unsure if she should leave, then turned back and walked around the bed. Gently, she sat at the edge, then crawled up slowly, lying beside him as if she belonged there. When she reached for his hand—the bruised,







