Chapter 72 The Snake in the Garden
Valentina
I stayed perfectly still, pressed against the cold stone, barely breathing.
Luca moved through Matteo’s office like he owned it. Confident. Entitled. Focused.
He wasn’t snooping for gossip. He was hunting.
First the desk drawers. Fast, practiced motions. Open. Shuffle. Close. Again. Then the file cabinet.
He pulled folders halfway out, scanned their covers, shoved them back.
Not random. Not curious.
He was looking for something.
My heart beat so loud I was sure he’d hear it, even through the wall.
Finally, his hand paused. He froze in front of the third drawer, pulled a file slowly—deliberately—and flipped it open.
Then he smiled.
The smug kind. The kind that said Got you, motherfucker.
He took out his phone and snapped a picture of whatever was inside. Just one. No flipping. No double-checking.
Whatever he found, he’d known exactly what he needed.
I couldn’t see the file from this angle. Couldn’t tell if it was a ledger, a contract, a list. All I knew was that it was dangerous.
Luca slid the folder back into place, shut the drawer like nothing had happened, and straightened his jacket.
Then he left.
I waited.
Five full minutes, just to be sure. Long enough to feel the ache in my calves from standing so still, long enough for the adrenaline to stop buzzing and settle into something sharper. Calculation.
I slipped back through the passageways, moving through the dark like a shadow. I didn’t stop until I was safely inside my suite, closed the panel, and my back pressed against it.
Shit.
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing in silence.
He was stealing something. Not an object—information. Something Matteo wasn’t going to give him freely. Something he thought he could use. And with the way he smiled… he thought he’d won.
That bastard was planning something.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. My mind raced with every possibility, every worst-case scenario. Luca hadn’t been sulking the way Matteo hoped—he was scheming.
Do I tell him?
Because this—this wasn’t nothing. This wasn’t petty. This was betrayal in motion. It reeked of desperation and arrogance, the kind of mix that ends in body bags.
But still…
What if I was wrong? What if it wasn’t important? What if I tipped Matteo off and he blew up at Luca over something stupid? What if I caused a war over a fucking shipping invoice?
I crossed to the vanity and leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on my face. The reflection that stared back at me wasn’t scared—but she wasn’t calm either.
He’ll want to know.
Matteo wasn’t the kind of man to overlook threats. He saw them everywhere—sniffed them out before anyone else noticed the rot. But tonight, he was out, trusting that everything back here would stay quiet.
And Luca had slithered right in.
But if I tell him—I’ll have to admit how I saw it.
The passageways.
The mirror.
The secret I hadn’t planned on sharing.
I wouldn’t need to tell him the fact that I’d snuck into his office—twice—and copied files. I could keep that part tucked away. But I’d have to come clean about the hidden walls. About what I’d found beneath this house.
Would he be pissed? Or impressed?
Matteo wasn’t a man who liked being kept in the dark. But he also wasn’t stupid. If the passageways were new to him, he’d see their value immediately—and the fact that I’d already figured out how to use them? That might just win me points.
Or not.
I stood, crossed the room, and looked at myself in the mirror.
“You didn’t get where you are by being scared of men.”
That was the truth.
I didn’t get here by flinching. I got here by calculating. By thinking two steps ahead. By knowing which move mattered most.
And right now, I had something Matteo needed to know.
Whether or not he liked how I knew it… he’d want the heads-up.
And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Luca get away with slithering through this house like no one was watching.
Not on my watch.
No one else but me is allowed to go behind my husband’s back and rifle through his secrets.
That privilege is mine. And I don’t share.
Several hours later, I was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling, my body buzzing with restless energy.
I hadn’t moved from the bed, but my mind had done laps. What Luca found, what it meant, how to break it to Matteo without it sounding like a confession of my own sins.
I wasn’t sure when I finally drifted off, but the faint sound of a doorknob turning snapped me out of it.
I sat up straight, heartbeat in my throat.
The bedroom door creaked open.
I reached for the bat I kept next to the nightstand—an old aluminum thing I found tucked behind a coat closet a week after I moved in. I’d cleaned it, named it, and decided she was mine now.
She came up smooth and ready, gripped tight in both hands as I stood from the bed, bare feet silent on the rug.
“Come any closer and I swear to God I’ll—”
“It’s just me.”
Matteo’s voice, rough and low.
He stepped into view, hands raised lazily like he was about to get frisked. “Jesus, baby. What the hell?”
I lowered the bat and blew out a breath, heart still hammering in my chest. “Don’t sneak into my room in the middle of the night and we won’t have this problem.”
His eyes dropped to the bat, then back to me. “Where the hell did you get that?”
I shrugged, letting the adrenaline leak out of my limbs slowly. “Found it in the house. Behind a closet. Figured it might come in handy, you know… just in case someone decided to test my reflexes.”
His brow lifted, like he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or irritated. “I leave for a few hours and you’re sleeping with a weapon?”
My lips parted, “I need to tell you something…”
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Can it wait ‘til morning? I’m beat.”
I hesitated.
This wasn’t just about gossip or bad vibes. This was sabotage.
But his shoulders were slumped, the first buttons of his shirt undone, the edge in his voice dulled by fatigue. He looked less like a mafia king and more like a man just trying to get to bed without snapping someone’s neck.
I could push. I could blurt it out, derail his night and drop the bomb in his lap.
Or I could wait.
Let him sleep.
He’d be sharper in the morning. More Matteo. Less moody husband.
Still, I didn’t like sitting on it. My gut itched. But strategy always beat impulse.
I sighed, curling the corner of my lip. “Fine. But I’m telling you first thing.”