“I know exactly who you are.” My voice comes out flatand cold, the way it gets when I’m too angry for tone. “Unfortunately.”
Andrei moves between us. “Sophia. Truck. Now.”
“It’s all right. I only want a moment.” Her eyes find mine over Andrei’s shoulder, and she looks at me with the focused, assessing quiet of a woman evaluating what something is worth before she decides what to do with it.
My stomach tightens. That look doesn’t promise violence. It promises something worse—calculation. Like she’s already measuring how much of me she’d have to carve away to make Reth bleed.
I step around him before he can stop me. His fingers brush my elbow—tight, warning—then release. “Whatever you came here to say, say it and then get back in your car and drive it off something tall.”
A pause. Something shifts behind her eyes—recalibrating, almost amused—and somehow that’s worse. That she finds me interesting. That I’m a curiosity to her instead of a threat.
“You’re quite forthright,” she murmurs, the words smooth as silk dragged over broken glass.
"And you're quite good at standing on sidewalks looking expensive while the people you've destroyed try to put themselves back together. Must be a real skill."
The corner of her mouth lifts, not quite a smile, more like a predator testing the weight of new prey. And in that moment, I understand with sickening certainty why Reth fears her. Not just because she’s powerful.
Because she enjoys the game.
“How is Nazareth doing?” she asks, and the question detonates. The casual possession in it.
“Are you fucking serious?” I laugh, but it’s ugly. Broken. “You pump him full of poison, lock him in a cell, break him until his body forgets it belongs to him, and now you want to know how he’s doing? Like he’s some mutual friend you’re politely checking on?”
“I’m simply?—”
“You’re simply a monster wearing a pretty coat,” I cut in, voice shaking with the kind of fury that feels like it could split me open. “You don’t get to act like you’re concerned. You don’t have that fucking right.”
Her dark eyes linger on me, patient, almost gentle in the most terrifying way possible. Like she’s watching a child throw a tantrum she knows will end soon.
I hate how small she makes me feel.
My hands are clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms. I can feel the tremble in my arms, the heat rising in my face, but I don’t care. I want her to see it. I want her to feel every ounce of the fury I’ve been carrying since the moment I saw what she did to him.
“I’m afraid you haven’t been part of our story long enough to tell me what I can or cannot do when it comes to Nazareth.”
“Don’t,” I seethe, stepping forward even as Andrei tries to pull me back. “Don’t you fucking say his name. You don’t get to say it. You don’t get to breathe it. Not after what you did to him.”
Valeria’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, the faint curve of her mouth deepens, as if my rage is nothing more than an amusing little breeze against her skin.
She watches me, calm and curious.
Then that smile deepens.
She watches me with the calm, clinical curiosity of a woman examining a mildly interesting insect pinned beneath glass.
“Oh, Sophia. I don’t blame you for falling for him.” She exhales softly, the sound almost sensual. “That beautiful, violent creature I shaped. The way he bleeds, the way he breaks so perfectly.”
My stomach turns.
“But he’s only going to break your heart, darling. He’s a pet, and a pet needs to be kept.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl, stepping forward so aggressively that Andrei’s hand clamps down hard on my shoulder. “He is not your pet. He is not your anything. You don’t get to talk about him like he’s some broken thing you own. He survived you. He got away from you. And if you ever try to put a leash on him again, I will rip your fucking throat out myself.”
Valeria simply tilts her head, that same serene, faintly amused smile playing on her lips, like my hatred is the sweetest thing she’s heard all day.
“You still don’t understand.” She steps closer. Close enough I can smell her perfume—something expensive and cold, like lilies left to rot in a mausoleum. “You will never understand the relationship we have. Your mind is too small, too… ordinary to grasp it. I had him for weeks. Alone. Desperate. High.”
Her gaze drifts over me, like she’s waiting for the crack to appear.
