Semua Bab Liars Like Us - Book 1: Legacy of Lies: Bab 31 - Bab 40

The night wrapped itself around Cruz’s estate like a cloak.From the hillside, the villa glittered with gold and music, laughter spilling from open windows where chandeliers blazed. But below, in the shadows, the wolves gathered.Dante crouched near the treeline, the black of his suit blending into the dark. Around him, his men waited — weapons silenced, eyes sharp, every line of their bodies taut with the promise of blood. Marco stood at his shoulder, jaw tight, watching the guards pacing the outer wall. Dante’s gaze never left the house.Valentina was in there. His wife. His.And Luca, too. The traitor.The name burned through him like poison, but he swallowed it d

The light that seeped through the curtains was gray, pale, stripped of warmth.Valentina sat on the edge of the bed, a robe loose around her shoulders, her hair damp from the bath she’d barely remembered taking. Her body felt heavy, her skin chilled despite the blankets. She hadn’t slept — the silence of the safehouse had been louder than any masquerade.When she lifted her eyes, she found him.Dante sat near the window, his chair turned toward her, a glass untouched at his side. He hadn’t left. His suit jacket was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled, but his eyes…they hadn’t wavered.She swallowed, her throat dry. “You’re still here.”His voice was low, steady. “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

The safehouse was quiet except for the low hum of men’s voices downstairs and the faint clink of glasses. Morning light bled pale through the curtains, gray and thin, casting a washed-out glow over everything.Valentina stood before the mirror, her hands braced against the wooden vanity.The reflection that stared back wasn’t the ghost she had seen in Cruz’s corridor mirror. She was cleaned of soot and blood now, her skin scrubbed raw, her hair sleek and pulled tight. The hollowness still lingered around her eyes, but beneath it something else glowed — sharp, cold, alive.She opened the wardrobe. Black dresses, tailored and severe, hung neatly beside finer silks Marco had scavenged in haste. For a long moment, she stared.Then she reached for the black.

The safehouse dining room had been stripped of its warmth. No bottles, no food, no laughter. Only a long table, chairs pulled tight, the air heavy with smoke and unease.Dante sat at the head, a dark figure in a black suit, his hands resting calmly on the table’s edge. Marco stood at his right, stone-faced, while the lieutenants filed in. Each man carried the stink of fear and ambition.Whispers followed them—the casino inferno. The stiletto kills. Rumors that Dante had lost his grip, that his queen whispered fire in his ear and made him reckless.Dante let them sit. Let the murmurs die down. His silence stretched until the only sound left was the faint tick of the clock on the wall.Finally, one of the older lieutenants cleared his throat, his voice carrying false confi

Gunfire split the night wide open.The courtyard erupted in light and thunder, muzzle flashes sparking against marble, stone shattering as bullets tore into the walls. Rain slicked the ground into black glass, turning every step into a gamble.Dante moved like a wolf through fire — fast, brutal, precise. His pistol barked twice, dropping a guard before the man’s finger could even tighten on the trigger. Another came from his flank, and Dante pivoted, knife flashing, blood hot across his knuckles.Valentina was there at his shoulder, her coat snapping like a banner in the rain. She fired steady, deliberate, each shot a breath, each breath a choice. Twice she pulled him back, covering his blind side with a flash of steel. Their movements weren’t rehearsed, but they flowed like they’d been written together long before