Valentina's heels echoed down the silent corridor of the villa like the ticking of a detonator. Every sharp click on the marble carried the aftershock of the ballroom of the dance, of his hands, of her betrayal to everything she'd been raised to protect.
The masquerade was over, but the mask she had worn had merely slipped inward. Her face was bare now, but her soul was veiled, drenched in a desire that felt more dangerous than anything the De Luca family had ever orchestrated.
She threw her bedroom door shut, locked it behind her, and stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror.
Her hair was tousled. Her lipstick was smeared. There was a smudge of black on her collarbone maybe from his glove, or maybe from sin itself.
"Stupid," she muttered, tearing off her heels.
But even as she said it, her pulse fluttered like a caged bird. Her body wasn't listening to her mind. Her blood remembered the pressure of his hand on the small of her back, the way his voice had dipped an octave just before he leaned in.
"La mia tentazione proibita"
She touched the place on her hip where his fingers had gripped her. There was no bruise, but it throbbed with memory.
Then her phone buzzed.
1 NEW MESSAGE Unknown Number
"Meet me in the wine cellar. Midnight. No guards. No masks. —L"
She read it once.
Then again.
Her fingers hovered above the reply option, trembling slightly, until she turned the screen off entirely.
There would be no reply. There didn't need to be.
MIDNIGHT — WINE CELLAR
The air was thick with aged oak and secrets.
The De Luca wine cellar was ancient walls lined with dusty vintages older than her parents' marriage. Shadows stretched across the space like watching eyes, the low, golden light of lanterns flickering with a seductive stillness. Somewhere in the distance, a drop of water echoed into a barrel.
He stood there. Unmasked. Like a sin waiting to be confessed.
Lupo leaned against a column of vintage reds, the glow of his cigarette highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the cold intent in his eyes. His leather jacket hung open, exposing the black shirt beneath tight across his chest, hinting at muscle and mayhem.
"I was starting to think you'd disappoint me," he said, his voice as smooth and bitter as espresso at midnight.
Valentina stepped forward, her heels quiet now, her breath louder than her movements. "I don't believe in making the same mistake twice."
Lupo's smirk curved like a blade. "Which mistake was that, querida? Letting me touch you or wanting it?"
She tilted her chin, pride coiling in her throat like venom. "Neither. I regret nothing."
"That's what makes you different. Most women run when they taste danger. You? You open your mouth and beg for more."
Her palm landed against his chest. Not a slap more like a declaration. His heart pounded hard beneath it.
"You're dangerous," she whispered.
"I'm the only one who'll tell you the truth."
"What truth?"
"That you were never meant to be someone's prize. Not your father's heir. Not Emilio's bride. You're fire in a silk dress, Valentina. You're not made for cages."
Her name on his lips sent a thrill through her spine. Not "principessa." Not "De Luca." Just Valentina. Like he saw her without the layers, the bloodline, the legacy.
"Say it," she challenged.
"What?"
"Say what you want."
His eyes darkened. He stepped closer, closing the last inch of space between them, and his voice dropped like a storm.
"I want to ruin you for anyone else."
She kissed him then wild and sudden, her hand tangled in his curls, her mouth devouring his with the fury of someone who had waited too long to feel anything real. He responded like he'd been starved. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. She moaned into his mouth, soft and reckless.
But just before it slipped too far, she pushed him back, breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"No more secrets," she said, voice hoarse. "If this goes further you tell me everything. Why you're here. Why you're guarding me. What you know about the De Luca betrayal."
His eyes flickered.
"Careful what you ask for, mi reina. You're reaching into a wolf's mouth and daring it to bite."
"I was raised with wolves. I'm not afraid of their teeth."
There was a long pause. Then, with a gravity that felt heavier than any kiss, he murmured, "You're asking for blood."
She stepped into him, lips grazing his jaw. "I was born in it."
LATER THAT NIGHT — VALENTINA'S ROOM
She didn't sleep.
She lay beneath the silk sheets, the shadows on her ceiling shifting like whispers. She touched her collarbone, where his lips had left her aching. The faint sting was the only proof that tonight had been real.
And yet, in all the noise of her mind, one truth was clear:
She didn't feel like a pawn anymore.
She felt like a queen.
And the wolf?
He was no longer her enemy.
Not entirely.