"The first rule of pretending is knowing exactly when to stop.
But by the time you feel it, it's already too late."
— Valentina Cruz
Valentina didn't sleep.
Not after Lorenzo kissed her like she was a secret he wanted to bury between her thighs.
Not after she let him.
Her robe still lay crumpled in the corner of her guest suite at the Moretti estate a casualty of choices she wasn't supposed to make. Her skin still buzzed with the memory of his touch, and her lips ached with the echo of war disguised as passion.
But now?
Now she wore armor.
Silk traded for structured couture. Blood red lipstick drawn like a threat across her mouth. Hair pinned up in a crown of thorns and power.
She was no longer a woman who had broken a rule.
She was a woman about to write new ones.
The breakfast table was a battlefield of its own.
Valentina entered the grand dining hall late, unapologetic. Her heels clicked across marble like gunshots. The Morettis were already seated.
Don Riccardo Moretti the patriarch sat at the head, half listening to reports from his consigliere. On his left, Emilio sipped espresso with casual arrogance, dressed in a bespoke suit and a smile made of razors.
And across the table, arms crossed, jaw clenched Lorenzo.
The air changed when she walked in.
His gaze snapped to hers like a reflex, sharp and unreadable. No trace of the man who had kissed her senseless hours ago. Only the soldier. Cold. Brutal. Caged.
"Good morning, Promessa," Emilio said smoothly, standing to kiss her cheek. "You look refreshed."
Bastard.
She kissed the air near his face and slid into her seat like she belonged on a throne. "Sleep is for people without enemies."
Emilio chuckled, unaware or pretending to be.
Lorenzo, however, didn't speak. But he watched. Every move. Every breath.
She hated that it thrilled her.
Midway through breakfast, Don Riccardo cleared his throat.
"It's decided," he said. "The engagement party will be held next Saturday. At the Palermo estate."
Emilio grinned. "The guest list will be extensive."
Valentina's spine stiffened. "And the security?"
"Handled," Emilio replied. "The Cruz guards will take exterior zones. Our men inside."
Her jaw ticked. "So we trust each other that much now?"
Don Riccardo looked at her, old and dangerous. "We trust that you will be loyal, figlia."
Valentina smiled sweetly, folding her napkin. "Loyalty is earned, Don. Not demanded."
Lorenzo's eyes met hers across the table.
There it was again that spark.
Not love. Not even lust.
Something worse.
Recognition.
Later that day, Valentina found herself alone in the Moretti library, surrounded by floor to ceiling tomes of politics, war, and legacy. She wasn't reading. She was waiting.
And she knew he'd come.
When the door creaked open, she didn't look up.
"Don't speak," she said. "Not yet."
Lorenzo closed the door behind him. Silent.
She stood, spine straight, staring at the fire instead of him. "If anyone saw us last night"
"They didn't."
"And if they had?"
"I would've killed them," he said simply.
That made her turn.
"You don't get to say that, Lupo." Her voice cracked with restrained fury. "You don't get to touch me like that and then sit at breakfast like you haven't tasted the inside of my mouth."
He crossed the room in two strides, close but not touching. "You kissed me back."
"And now I have to pretend I didn't."
"That's the rule, isn't it? Pretend. Smile. Obey."
She swallowed hard. "Exactly."
He studied her, then leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat of him. "Then let's make a pact."
"What kind of pact?"
"The kind that keeps us from getting killed."
Her breath hitched.
"Whatever this is," he said, gesturing between them, "it ends now. No more looks. No more touches. You marry Emilio. I disappear back into the shadows. We survive."
Valentina laughed bitterly. "And what if I don't want to survive?"
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
"Then one of us dies," he said. "And it won't be me."
That night, Valentina sat in front of her vanity, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate strokes. A knock came at the door.
It wasn't Lorenzo.
It was Alejandro.
"Miss Cruz," he said quietly. "We have a problem."
She rose, instantly alert. "What kind?"
"There's been a breach in the Palermo communication line. The Rosas may have intercepted our plans."
Valentina's blood went cold. "The engagement party."
Alejandro nodded once. "It may be a trap."
She turned toward the window, staring at the moon hanging low and full in the sky.
"Then let's bait it."