I slipped inside, and the lock engaged automatically.
I was safe. For now.
The monitors flickered to life, showing feeds from across the estate. I could see everything—the study, hallways, and grounds.
Marco entered the study with four guards. Fury twisted his face when he saw the empty room, the phone off the hook.
"Find her! Check every room. Now!"
Guards scattered.
Marco approached the bookshelf slowly. "Valentina. Come out. We can still do this the easy way."
I didn't respond.
"Fine." He turned to a guard. "Get me a cutting torch. We'll breach it."
The computer. I could reach people. Warn them.
I pulled up the browser with shaking hands. Logged into Instagram—my old account, the one with thousands of followers from my life as Marco DeLuca's perfect daughter.
I started a livestream.
The camera caught my face—bruised, tear-streaked, desperate. Good. Let them see what he'd done.
"My name is Valentina DeLuca. If anyone is watching this, please listen. My father, Marco DeLuca, is trying to kill me. He's been running criminal operations through his real estate business—money laundering, weapons deals—in partnership with Senator Richard Caldwell."
Thousands of viewers now. The number kept climbing, faster than I could track.
Marco's voice came through the camera audio, sharp and vicious. "Valentina, turn that off. Now."
"You see?" I kept my eyes on the camera, on everyone who might be watching. "That's my father. Marco DeLuca. Real estate developer. Pillar of the community. Respected businessman. And a murderer who's killed to protect his empire."
The viewer count was a blur now—tens of thousands, maybe more, people sharing and resharing as the video spread.
"If anyone sees this, please send help. Please don't let him get away with this."
I watched Marco's carefully constructed persona crumble on camera for the world to see. His mask was shattering. His empire was burning.
Then the screen went black.
The lights died. Complete darkness in the panic room.
He'd cut the power.
In the sudden silence, I heard his voice through the steel door—cold, controlled, terrifying in its complete calm.
"Clever girl. Just like your mother. But it won't save you. And it won't save Valestri. He'll be dead before they can warn him, and you'll follow. This ends tonight, Valentina. One way or another, this ends tonight."
Silence.
Then, there was a sound that made my blood freeze—the hiss and roar of the cutting torch igniting.
Blue flame glowed visibly through the gap where he'd already started on the door. Sparks showering in the darkness like deadly fireworks.
He wasn't waiting anymore.
He wasn't negotiating.
