She paces a short line in front of the desk, boots thudding softly on the floor. I watch her brain spin, cutting through things, rearranging them. That’s one of the things about her that gets me—how fast she moves from fear to anger to strategy, like emotions are a fuel, not an obstacle.
“If the Vipers are moving,” she says, “and someone in here is feeding them confidence, they’re not just trying to hurt Xavier. They’re trying to take the Raiders.”
“Probably,” Asher agrees.
“Why ‘probably’?” she shoots back.
“Because some people don’t think past the first explosion,” he says. “They just want to watch something burn.”
“But you don’t put moles in place for two months just to watch a pretty fire,” she counters. “You do that to weaken the structure. To soften it. To make it easy to walk into once the front door collapses.”
Her gaze sharpens. “They want to take the house while the king’s gone.”
My chest tightens, the word house hitting heavier than maybe she meant it. This place is more than bricks and bikes. It’s blood and history and debt.
“Okay,” she says, more to herself than us. “So. They want the house. How do you take a house like this?”
“With guns,” I say.
“With numbers,” Asher adds.
“With support,” she finishes. “No one here survives long trying to rule alone. They need backing. From officers. Captains. Older members. People the rest of the Raiders respect enough to follow when lines get blurry.”
She stops pacing, turns back to us. “Which means they need one thing more than guns or timing.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“An audience,” she says.
The word hangs in the air.
Asher’s eyebrow lifts the smallest bit. “Explain.”
“You don’t stage a takeover in a vacuum,” she says. “You need people talking. Watching. Choosing. You need a moment whereeveryone’s in the same place, pretending they’re there for one reason while something else is happening underneath.”
A slow, dangerous smile starts to curl at her mouth.
My stomach does something stupid in response.
Asher sees it. His eyes narrow. “Valentina.”
“What’s a better way,” she continues, ignoring him, “to expose who’s plotting to take over than at a party?”
Silence.
I stare.
Asher stares.
“A party,” I repeat.
She nods, eyes bright and sharp. “Yes. We give them what they want. A gathering. A reason for everyone to dress up, drink, relax. A reason for loyalties to show themselves. The ones who want power will gravitate toward each other. The ones who want something from me will crowd closer. The ones betting on Xavier staying down will make their plays in whispers when they think nobody’s looking.”
“V,” I say carefully, “you understand what happens when you put alcohol, egos, and a power vacuum in one room together, right?”
“Yes,” she says. “Fun.”
Asher blows out a slow breath. “It’s chaos.”
