The hallway felt colder than usual.
Maybe it was just me, or maybe the silence in the house had started to sink into my bones lately. No Sofia, no chaotic murmuring from the kitchen, no sounds of Dad yelling into his phone in the middle of a business call.
Just my feet on polished marble and a weird heaviness in my chest.
I don't know what I expected when he asked to see me. That usually meant one of two things: either he had something important to say, or someone had messed up and I was about to hear about it.
I wasn't expecting an errand.
I reached his office door, hand hovering for a second before I knocked. Three quick taps.
"Come in."
The room smelled like cigars and something expensive I couldn't name. Dad was behind his desk, half in shadow, sleeves rolled up like he always did when things got serious. He didn't look up right away—just scribbled something on a yellow legal pad, then finally leaned back in his chair.
"You look well," he said, eyes scanning me in that calculating way of his.
"Thanks. You don't," I replied. We always spoke like that—half-teasing, half-guarded.
His mouth twitched into something like a smirk. "Sit."
I dropped into the chair across from him, crossing one leg over the other.
"You're going out tonight," he said, already reaching into a drawer. No build-up, no explanation.
"Okay… where?"
He slid an envelope across the desk. Thick. Heavy. Sealed.
"That goes to a man named MM. Club Verité. Address is stamped on the back. Car's outside."
I blinked. "You want me to deliver... what exactly?"
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "No es asunto tuyo, Valerie."
(It's not your concern, Valerie)
Right. Of course not.
"Why me? Don't you have people for this? I'm not exactly—mafia material."
He gave me a long look. "Sofia's unavailable. And I trust you."
Trust. That word from my father always felt double-edged.
I let my fingers slide over the envelope without picking it up. "Who's MM?"
"You don't need to know that either."
Naturally.
"Any instructions?"
He nodded. "Walk in. Find MM. Hand it over. Don't talk. Don't stay."
Simple. Almost too simple.
I gave him a look, one brow raised. "Sounds shady."
"Lo es," he said bluntly, then stood. "But it's clean enough for you. And important enough to need you."
(it is)
That… was new.
He handed me a sleek black car key. "Don't lose that."
As I stood to leave, I glanced down at the envelope one more time.
"Do I need to bring a gun?" I asked, only half joking.
"yes. Just don't bring your curiosity."
...
I didn't go straight to get ready.
Instead, I tossed the envelope on my bed like it was some cursed object and sat at the edge of the mattress, just staring at it.
MM.
No full name. No photo. Just two letters and an address to a club I'd never been to—Verité. The name itself sounded sleek, rich, and probably dripping in sin.
Dad was always vague, but this… this was different. It wasn't like the occasional dinner with politicians or the cold business parties where I had to look polished and polite but say nothing. This felt personal. Like I was stepping into a part of his world that he'd always kept me on the outskirts of.
Maybe it was the absence of Sofia. Maybe it was the slow shift in power happening in the background—the kind nobody talked about, but you could feel in every quiet conversation that stopped when you entered a room.
Whatever it was, I was in it now.
I stood, finally peeling myself off the bed and heading to the bathroom. The mirror caught me off guard—my hair was messy, and I still had that slight pillow-crease on my cheek from my earlier nap. Not exactly mysterious-mafia-daughter-ready.
The water from the shower was scalding, just the way I liked it. I let it burn against my skin, washing away the unease—or trying to. I stood under the stream longer than usual, eyes closed, letting the sound drown out the buzzing in my head.
MM. Club. Don't ask questions.
I'd been raised in this life, but never truly a part of it. Always protected, always slightly outside the storm. But now? Now it felt like I was walking right into the eye.
After I stepped out, I wrapped myself in a towel and started my skincare routine—mechanical, focused, almost meditative. Serums. Moisturizer. Under-eye balm. I didn't even look at myself until I was done.
I needed to look like I belonged there—even if I didn't.
I dried my hair halfway, then let the rest fall naturally down my back. It was dark, almost black, and went past my waist. Tonight, I left it loose. Sharp. Elegant.
I pulled out my outfit.
I didn't want to look delicate tonight.
I wasn't trying to look pretty or soft or like someone who needed protecting. Not for this.
I pulled the dress over my body slowly, the sheer black fabric clinging to every curve like it had been made for me. It was bold—borderline reckless—but something about it felt right. The long sleeves added just enough edge, while the abstract dark pattern gave it a shadowy, almost dangerous vibe. Like I was wearing smoke.
Over it, I threw on my black leather jacket. Heavy. Sharp. Cropped just enough to show the curve of my waist. It smelled like confidence and gasoline.
Then the boots—my favorite pair. Chunky, all-black platform boots that made my steps loud and deliberate. I liked the way they made me feel taller, stronger… untouchable.
I looked at myself in the mirror—dark dress, leather, boots that meant business—and smirked.
Whatever this night held, I wasn't showing up timid.
Not tonight.
I stared at my reflection as I popped my contacts in—subtle, hazel-tinted ones that always made my eyes look just a little more intense.
I didn't look scared. I didn't look uncertain.
But I felt it.
I picked up the envelope last. Held it in both hands like it was something sacred or dangerous—maybe both. Then I slipped it under my arm and headed downstairs.
The house was quiet again. I passed one of the guards in the hallway. He gave me a small nod but didn't speak. Another one opened the front door for me without a word.
The car was sleek. Black. Low to the ground. Definitely not one of our usual ones.
I got in, settled the envelope beside me, and pulled out onto the road with only one thought running through my mind.