(VALENTINO'S POV)
I didn't sleep that night.
Not really.
I just laid there staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the city outside my window, replaying everything that went wrong in the span of forty-eight hours. The ambush. The accusation. The look on Krystal's face when Rafa all but pointed a gun at her without pulling the trigger. And then Papà's voice on the phone, dragging the past back up like a blade sliding across old scars.
By morning, I was done pretending I can rest this off.
I called my brothers into my hospital room so we could talk. No yelling. No theatrics. Just the three of us, sitting there with the weight of everything hanging between us.
"She's not the mole," I tell them, flat and final.
Raffaele scoffs immediately. "You're still on this."
"I never got off it," I snap. "But you will."
