Chapter 3 A Rose, A Warning

Valentina

I never thought a rose could terrify me. But the one I held in my hand the blood-red rose.felt like a death sentence. Its petals, delicate as velvet, were smeared with something darker. Not just crimson... blood. Real blood. Fresh.

I clutched the edge of the marble sink in my en suite bathroom, my knuckles white. My heart pounded like war drums against my ribs. Who left it? When? I had locked this door before I fell asleep, hadn't I?

A knock echoed on my bedroom door, polite but firm.

"Signorina Valentina," the voice of the housemaid, Lucia, called from the other side. "Colazione è pronta. Breakfast is ready."

I stashed the rose in a towel, burying it at the bottom of the hamper, and composed myself. When I opened the door, Lucia was already halfway down the corridor, not waiting for a response. They all did that here served and vanished like ghosts. Like they were scared.

Breakfast was in a sunlit atrium that didn't match the chill crawling under my skin. The table was set for two, but Alessandro was absent. Again.

I didn't eat. I couldn't. My mind was still on the rose. I needed answers.

I slipped away from the atrium, my heels silent on the Italian marble. The De Luca estate was a fortress disguised as a palace walls lined with expensive art, polished floors, armed guards in tailored suits. Cameras in every corner. This place wasn't just for living; it was for watching.

I started exploring.

Behind the wine cellar was a door guarded by two men in black. It was unmarked, unadorned.

"Authorized personnel only," one of them said flatly when I approached.

"I'm the boss's wife," I replied coldly, summoning every ounce of fire in my veins. "Substitute or not."

They looked at each other, unsure, until a voice cut through the tension.

"She's right."

Lorenzo.

Alessandro's cousin stepped out of the shadows, shirt half buttoned, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Cool, calm, chaos beneath a pretty face.

"She can go where she pleases. Isn't that right, bella?"

He waved off the guards and opened the door. "Come. Let's play tourist."

Inside was not what I expected.

A surveillance room. Dozens of monitors. Footage of the estate, the city, and my stomach turned the Russo household. My family's home.

"You're watching my family?" I gasped.

Lorenzo took a drag from his cigarette, eyes flicking to the screen showing my father pacing the study.

"We keep tabs. Allies. Enemies. And uncertain chess pieces."

I turned to him sharply. "You think I'm a chess piece?"

He smirked. "You? You're a wild card. That's why you're dangerous."

One monitor showed a dark hallway. A figure placing a rose in front of my bedroom. I leaned closer.

"Pause that," I whispered.

Lorenzo rewound and froze the image.

It was a woman. Slender. Hooded. Moving with purpose.

Not staff. Not a servant.

"She's not one of ours," he said quietly. "I'll find out who she is."

"No," I snapped. "I will."

"Valentina!"

"You want a pawn? Then let me move."

I left him in the room, rage simmering beneath my skin.

Back in my quarters, a sealed envelope had been placed on my pillow.

My name handwritten.

I tore it open.

Inside: a photograph.

My sister.

Tied to a chair.

Blood on her mouth. A gun to her head.

And a note:

"She was the perfect bride. You were not part of the plan. Fix your mistake, or bury your family."

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I sat on the edge of the bed, the rose now making terrible sense.

She was alive.

But someone wanted me dead. Or compliant.

The De Luca name was war, but I was already in the battlefield unarmed, underestimated.

Not for long.