Chapter 56 The Hourglass Game
Valentina
The house was quieter than it had been in weeks. No wedding planners. No fittings. No champagne toasts or showtime kisses. Just stone walls and secrets.
Matteo and Rosco had left fifteen minutes ago to “handle some business,” which I was sure involved more than spreadsheets. The second I heard the SUV pull away, I locked my bedroom door, dragged the oversized gargoyle statue away from the front of the bookshelf, and opened the hidden panel.
It had been weeks since I found the passageway—long enough to convince myself it hadn’t been a fever dream. But the stale air hit me instantly, grounding me in the truth.
This time, I came prepared. Dark clothes. Gloves. Phone fully charged. Earbuds in, timer set for sixty minutes. An hour. That was all I was allowing myself. Enough time to get in, get what I needed, and get the hell out.
I moved fast down the narrow corridor, flashlight off—no need. I knew the turns now. Knew where to duck under a low beam and where to shift my weight to avoid the creaky floorboard near the old wine casks. When I reached the small panel behind Matteo’s office mirror, I looked through the two way glass and saw no one was there.
I slid the panel open, stepped inside, and crossed the room without turning on the light. The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains enough to work by. I went straight to the locked credenza, knelt down, and picked the lock with the same makeshift tool I’d stashed behind the wall last time.
Click.
The door creaked open, and the scent of old paper and ink greeted me like an invitation.
I considered taking the files back to my suite—just a few at a time—to scan them on my own equipment. But the thought spiraled fast.
What if I didn’t get them back in time?
What if Matteo decided to go through his files for the first time in a year, and I happened to have the one he needed?
What if Rosco came back early?
No. I wasn’t going to risk it.
Photos. Clean. Quick. Efficient.
I pulled out the first folder, flipped it open, and began snapping photos—every page, one after another, not even looking at the content. That would come later. I’d filter for what mattered once I was safe. Right now, the goal was quantity.
I moved like a machine. File. Flip. Snap. File. Flip. Snap.
After fifteen minutes, my knees started to ache, but I didn’t stop. By the time the timer in my earbud buzzed—soft and low—I’d made it through just over a third of the cabinet. Not enough, but enough for now.
I closed the drawers, relocked them, wiped the handles, and crossed the room. Just before I stepped through the hidden panel, I took one last glance at the office.
So clean. So ordinary. So full of rot.
Back in my suite, I reset everything. Gargoyle statue back in place. Door locked. Shoes off. Robe on.
I sat down at my desk, slipped the flash drive into the USB port, and began transferring the images from my phone. Dozens. Hundreds. Pixelated glimpses of ledgers, contracts, names. I’d sort them later.
This laptop had been a wedding gift from Matteo—a passive-aggressive one, if I’d ever seen it. High-end. Customized. Tracked, no doubt. I wasn’t stupid enough to keep anything on it. Everything went to the drive.
Just in case.
I watched the progress bar inch forward and sat back in my chair, heartbeat finally slowing.
One hour down.
A third of the secrets exposed.
Two more trips and I’d have everything I needed.
The flash drive finished transferring, and I plugged it into the secondary laptop I’d picked up before the wedding. Not the one Matteo gifted me—this one was mine, off-grid, untraceable, used only when I needed to move like a ghost.
Image by image, I began sifting.
File after file. Page after page.
Most of it was business documentation—at least on the surface. Clean balance sheets. Licensing forms. Tax paperwork. Enough to pass inspection from any agency that didn’t already have its hands in the family’s pockets.
But underneath the polish… there it was.
Shell companies and layered ownerships. Fake names. Hidden partners.
The Genovese family had its claws in everything.
Strip clubs. Of course. Fast cash. Easy to launder.
Nightclubs. Perfect for moving party drugs.
Laundromats. Classic. Cash-heavy and untraceable.
A string of restaurants. Fronts, all of them.
Storage facilities and warehouses. Ideal for hiding inventory—legal and otherwise.
A trucking company and a few logistics outfits. Perfect for interstate movement.
Imports and exports. Not just goods. Contraband. Cuban cigars, uncut diamonds, antique weapons.
And, of course—drugs. Cocaine. Fentanyl. Heroin.
The big leagues.
I should’ve been disgusted but I wasn’t.
This was the world I had been born into. The rules I’d learned in my cradle basically. My father’s empire had been built the same way. Maybe even bloodier.
And I’d never pretended to be anything but my father’s daughter.
This?
This wasn’t the part that bothered me.
This was my inheritance.
I leaned back, eyes scanning the file names, tracing the dots of a criminal constellation that spanned the entire East Coast.
I wasn’t planning to burn this empire to the ground.
She was going to take it.
Not the fake version Matteo was offering. Not the wife-with-a-title, shared-power bullshit. The real thing.
And this—these files, these routes, these shadow fronts—was the map.
The keys.
The blueprint.
With this, I can keep everything running like a well-oiled machine. I would know where to pull back, where to double down, where to shift when the feds got too close.
And more importantly, I’d know which of Matteo’s allies would turn on him when the time came.
All I had to do now was keep going.
She closed the laptop and hid it in the false bottom of the desk drawer.
She stood, stretching out the tension from her spine, then made her way to the walk-in closet.
She pulled a cream-colored blouse from its hanger—silk, soft, flattering but modest. Paired it with tailored trousers in slate gray and soft nude heels. Classy. Sweet. Wholesome.
A quick touch of lipstick. Subtle perfume. She pulled her hair into a soft twist and added the final touch—a delicate gold bracelet Alessio had gifted her during their engagement week.
She checked the mirror one last time. Not too flashy. Just enough to look like she wasn’t trying.
By the time she stepped out of her suite, it was nearly noon. Perfect.
She made her way toward Alessio’s wing of the estate, smiling at a few staff as she passed, keeping her stride casual, unhurried. The perfect blend of confident and approachable.
When she reached his study, she knocked once—lightly, like someone with good intentions—and when he answered, she offered a warm smile.
“Hi, I was thinking about heading down out lunch,” she said, tone light as air. “But I didn’t really feel like going alone. Would you like to join me?”
His face softened instantly. That paternal warmth she’d been banking on all along flickered behind his eyes. He stepped aside to let her in.
“You just made my day, dear.”