Page 56 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

The meeting ended like that. The group filed out like defeated lions, heads down.

As Vincent left, I caught his eye, hoping he'd help smooth things over with the others.

Vincent understood. He nodded. That gave me some relief.

I stood by the table for a while. The overhead light hummed with electrical current—faint, constant, like some invisible pressure building.

Marco burst through the door, moving faster than usual, his face hard. I rarely saw that expression on him.

He was gripping a stack of photos, gripping them so tight the edges were creasing. "Dante... look at this."

I looked down. The photos were low quality, taken with a telephoto lens from a distance. The figure in the frame wore a dark coat, lean build, the profile belonging to Javier—the man I'd been hunting.

But my eyes didn't stay on him. They landed on the woman across from him—Valentina.

She was turned slightly, talking to Javier, hair half-covering her face. But that cream-colored coat, her posture, the way she tilted her head when she spoke—I knew it all too well.

Something in my chest stopped. By the time I realized it, my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out.

I went through all the photos, barely able to believe what I was seeing. The way Valentina and Javier interacted—like two partners who'd worked together for years. Like they'd known each other a long, long time.

"So." My voice was hoarse from the cigars, every word tasting bitter. "She already knew Javier when she was in Mexico. Is that it?"

"I had the same thought. Already looking into it." Marco paused, like something occurred to him. "Valentina's been coming to the office a lot lately. She's always chatting up people in logistics, bringing coffee, pastries, getting friendly. I thought she just wanted to understand your work, so I didn't think much of it. But I just asked the guys over there—turns out she's been asking key questions. Routes, timing, which docks we're using..."

He didn't finish. The business we'd just discussed in the meeting—it all went through my company. Valentina had gotten that information and passed it to Javier. That's how he knew exactly where to plant his bombs and cause his destruction.

I understood the truth now. And it hit me like a slap across the face.

From the moment Valentina showed up at the Lombardi's party, I'd felt crushing guilt about her. She stayed close to me,caused Elena to misunderstand me, but I still couldn't make her leave because of that guilt.

Everything she said—wanting to be with me, wanting Elena and me to be happy—I thought at least some of it was real.

Turns out, all lies.

She wasn't the old Valentina anymore. The old Valentina was a professional lawyer who never lied. But now? She lied as easily as breathing.

"Dante, you okay?" Marco's hand landed on my shoulder.

I opened my eyes. My phone rang.

Alfredo's name flashed on the screen. My brow twitched hard. He rarely called me. Tonight's call sent a cold spike up my spine.

I answered.

"Dante." Alfredo's voice was old, hoarse, carrying deep exhaustion. "Salvador passed away."

The entire world seemed to stop in that instant.

Through the phone came the silence after a ventilator's been unplugged. Dead quiet. Those low, rhythmic sounds were gone, leaving only vast, empty stillness.

"He woke up once this afternoon. I thought he was getting better. But he passed quietly tonight. Went peacefully, no pain." Alfredo said. "He left you a letter. Come back and see."

The call ended.

I stood there holding my phone in the silent conference room. The overhead light still hummed. The ashtray on the table held the remnants of burned cigars.

I walked out of the conference room. My footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, one after another, like some tireless pendulum.