Chapter 4 - Battle of Wills

Valentina’s POV

Raffaele’s hand brushed against the end of my back, just where my spine arched beneath silk and diamonds.

I should’ve stopped him—but his touch lingered like the tail end of a storm, electric and inevitable.

“You parade through my empire like a goddess tonight,” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck, “and expect me to sleep alone?”

I laughed, quiet and sharp. “Aren’t you the one who paid for the show, Ricchezza?”

The corners of his mouth lifted, smugly. “You teased. Now throw me the bone.”

My skin prickled.

The tension between us had stretched all night like a taut string—every look, every touch, calculated and deliberate.

This wasn’t romance. It was war, dressed in velvet and veiled in obscure candlelight.

Still, being so close with my enemy felt dangerous and thrilling at the same time.

So I turned my back to him, walking slowly toward our bedroom, hips swaying under the weight of my champagne gown.

I paused at the door. Unzipped the top, just enough for the silk to slip from my shoulders.

I glanced back. “Well? Are you gonna help or just watch Caro?”

He came up behind me, hands sure but unhurried, tracing the zipper the rest of the way down.

His knuckles skimmed the length of my spine. I shivered. His hands were hot and craving, he took his time.

The dress pooled to the floor, forgotten.

My red lace lingerie clung to my skin like sin.

He almost kissed me. Only his self preservation stopped him.

We lay there side by side in his luxury bed, tangled in heat and rivalry, beneath soft sheets.

His arm draped around me, heavy and possessive.

My back arched against him, my heart steady despite the chaos in my brain.

I didn’t sleep much. Just waited for morning to burn the edges of this lovers game.

When the sun crept through gauzy curtains, the heat of Baghdad returned like a promise.

Dry, golden, oppressive. I stretched like a cat, careful not to wake the lion beside me.

Raffaele stirred anyway. His grip tightened.

“You’re warm, where are you going? Stay” he said with a hoarse morning voice.

“You’re too clingy.” I said with a smile.

He laughed into my hair. “You’re too dangerous, you know that don’t you?.”

“Of course” I purred.

I slipped from his grasp with feline grace, brushing his skin just enough to leave a memory.

I made sure he would be thinking of me all day. Even the bedsheets would smell of my perfume for days to come, unless he changed them of course.

But something told me he wouldn’t.

The red lace still hugged me like a second skin. My gown glittered on the floor. My tiara sat on the nightstand, next to his gold watch.

A battlefield, frozen in time.

I padded barefoot into the en-suite bathroom and locked the door behind me.

My phone buzzed.

Maria: I got something.

I didn’t hesitate. We needed to meet.

I had asked her about more information about Tariq Al-Mansour, my father’s killer..

He was too slippery and well connected. A ghost dressed in U.S. uniforms and ancient Iraqi dust that never seemed to leave a trace.

But before that—coffee, clothes, and armor.

I dressed in a soft white dress. Effortlessly chic. Elegance in every seam.

When I emerged, Raffaele was leaning on the doorframe shirtless, watching me with an infuriating smirk.

“No goodbye kiss?”

“I don’t kiss employers.”

He clicked his tongue. “But you do sleep beside them in lingerie.”

“That wasn’t sleep. That was the strategy.”

He laughed. “Then I suggest you strategize more often.”

”Don’t miss me too much.” I said and blew him a goodbye kiss.

I had business to attend to.

The café we had chosen was a hidden gem near the old quarter, shadowed by jasmine vines and cooled by fans misting rosewater into the air.

Baghdad heat made my skin moist, but the scent of cardamom and pistachio made it almost bearable.

Maria arrived fifteen minutes late, looking flushed and panicked, her espresso-colored hair twisted into a messy knot. She was carrying a folder.

“You look like you robbed Interpol,” I said, waving her to the table and smiled.

She dropped into the chair and pushed the folder toward me. “Yes I almost did, hah! It was so hard. I used all my connections.”

Maria works in investigative journalism, and with her sources within the police and government, she often gets access to sensitive information through confidential channels. I was so grateful.

I flipped it open.

Tariq Al-Mansour was impossible to pin down.

A dozen fake aliases. Secret passports, including one from the U.S. He was a smuggler, a mercenary—did any job for the right pay. Silent, efficient.

Never got caught. They only had a confidential file on him to keep tabs. Untouchable. A U.S. spy with diplomatic immunity.

This was trouble.

“Here,” Maria pointed, “he entered the city two weeks ago using his diplomatic ID.”

I leaned in, heart thudding. “Do we have an address?”

“Only whispers. He’s hiding somewhere in Baghdad doing God knows what.”

I looked at her. “Thank you.”

Maria hesitated. Her fingers wrapped around her coffee cup like it was an anchor. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I’m afraid Valentina, I saw Tullio.”

My breath stopped. ”Are you sure it’s him?”

She looked away. “I was coming back from the bookstore and—I thought I imagined it at first. But the feeling of being watched only grew stronger.

”It was him. The walk and silhouette. I would recognize him everywhere. He’s here.” Maria’s face was tense on the verge of tears.11

Fear laced her voice like broken glass.

I reached across the table and took her hand. “He won’t touch you. I swear it.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Come on,” I said, standing. “You’re overdue for a distraction. My treat. Something decadent.”

“I still can’t believe she sold you,” Maria muttered, her espresso untouched. “Your own stepmother.”

I smiled, slow and bitter. “Camilla always knew how to pick the winning side.”

“And Raffaele?” she asked, careful now. “Is he part of that win?”

I leaned back, let the sunlight slide over the rim of my glass. “He’s a weapon. One I intend to use.”

Maria hesitated. “Valentina… you think his family was behind your father’s death?”

I didn’t blink. “I know they were. Camilla waved the police report in my face. Stamped. Official. My father was days away from proving orichalcum was real—an ancient metal that could rewrite the rules of energy. It would’ve dismantled fossil fuel empires overnight.”

Maria stared silently.

“I can’t believe they got away with that” she said finally with sympathy. ”We all knew it wasn’t an accident that night”

I felt so broken and grief washed over me. Maria held my hand across the table.

“But the report named a mercenary this Tariq Al-Mansour. The hired ghost I told you to find. Paid to make it look like looters burned everything and he was only caught in the crossfire. And the bribes to cover it up?”

I looked her dead in the eye. “They led straight to Ricchezza Oil.”

”Be careful Valentina, a double edged blade can cut its owner too if it slips” her words simmered in my mind but I could not afford to let it get to me.

I had to continue with my plan.

We ordered iced pistachio coffee, fig tartlets, and saffron pastries drizzled in honey.

For a moment, it felt like the world paused.

“I always hated him,” Maria said suddenly, voice quiet.

“I know.”

“You saved me once, Valentina.”

I smiled. “And I’d do it again.”

But the warmth between us shattered when I saw the shadow of Tuillo, peeping behind a corner.

My blood turned to ice.