Trapped Between Kings

Valentina Russo's skin prickle. Cameras flashed as socialites, politicians, and elite moguls mingled beneath the pretense of sophistication.

Valentina moved like a queen through the crowd,poised, composed, and breathtaking in a crimson silk gown that she had designed herself. Her honey-brown curls framed her face in soft waves, and the slit of her dress teased her toned leg with each step she took.

It had taken years, but she had done it. She had walked away from the ashes of her past and built an empire from the ground up. In the world of fashion, the name Valentina Russo no longer came with whispered warnings-it carried prestige, elegance, and power.

But tonight, power had a scent. It wrapped around her like a noose the moment she stepped into the venue-dark, musky, and dangerously familiar.

She sensed him before she saw him.

Turning slowly, her eyes landed on Dante Marino.

Time hadn't softened him. He still looked like the man she remembered: tall, commanding, dressed in a tailored black suit that molded to his body like armor. His dark eyes scanned the room with lethal precision, resting on her as if no time had passed.

Valentina's breath hitched.

Dante's lips curled into a smirk,cold, knowing, and sharp enough to draw blood.

She stood her ground. Years ago, she would've flinched. Not now. Not after clawing her way out of the hell his world had buried her in.

He moved toward her, his steps unhurried, calculated.

"Valentina." His voice was low, smooth like aged whiskey, but laced with poison. "Columbia looks good on you."

She tilted her chin. "You've always had a way of finding me, Dante. I suppose old habits die hard."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. "You walked away, cara mia, but don't think for a second that I stopped watching."

Her blood turned to ice. "I'm not yours to watch anymore."

"But you're still mine," he whispered, his gaze lingering on her mouth. "In ways that matter."

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palm. "You have no claim on me."

Dante leaned in, his breath grazing her ear. "Every move you make, every man who touches you-I'll know. Just remember that."

And then he walked away, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost. The music surged, the party roared, but Valentina's world stood still.

She needed air.

Outside, the night was cooler. The sharp bite of wind on her skin cleared her mind, but only slightly. Her heart still raced, her body still hummed with the remnants of Dante's presence.

She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and turned toward the steps leading down from the grand venue. That's when she bumped into someone-solid, tall, and unapologetically male.

"Forgive me-" she began, stepping back.

"No, please, it's my fault," the man said with a small smile.

Her gaze traveled up-olive skin, tousled black hair, and piercing gray eyes that seemed to read her like a book. He was handsome in a dangerous, effortless way. The kind of man whose presence disrupted gravity.

Rafael De Luca.

She recognized him instantly.

He was Dante's rival. Rumored to be just as ruthless, just as cunning. If Dante was fire and fury, Rafael was ice and steel. The media loved him. The Mafia feared him.

"What a surprise," Valentina said cautiously.

"I could say the same," Rafael replied, stepping closer. "You don't usually attend events hosted by the Colombian elite. Not unless there's a reason."

"I was invited," she said. "And I have clients here."

He smiled, slow and lazy. "I'm sure you do."

Valentina bristled at the insinuation. "If you'll excuse me-"

"Walk with me," Rafael said, not a question but a quiet command. "Just five minutes. I promise I won't bite."