Chapter 75 The Control I Can Keep
Valentina
I returned to my room but I can’t look at another file.
Not right now.
I left the laptop locked the drawer where I left it and the flash drive hidden in its secret spot.
The businesses, the logistics, the secrets I expected. But those two files—those girls—I wasn’t prepared for that. And there were more I wasn’t ready to face.
Their faces are burned into my mind. Sixteen. Fourteen. Just babies.
I press my palm to my stomach, but the nausea doesn’t go away. It just simmers beneath the surface, sharp and bitter like bile. I can’t fall apart. Not yet. Not when I only have a couple of hours before I meet with Alessio.
I tell myself I’ll come back to it later. Lie to myself a little. Pretend I’ll be ready.
But right now? I need to get out of my head. Out of this version of the world. Because if I don’t burn the rage off, it’ll seep out of me in all the wrong places. Matteo already asked if something was wrong. If he sees even a flicker of what I’m really thinking…
I slip into my workout clothes—sports bra, leggings, hair twisted up. I don’t even bother tying my shoes. My feet know where I’m going.
The extra room feels like stepping into a different version of my life. The walls are quiet. The light is soft. This is mine. Not a gift. Not a bribe. Not some gilded cage.
Mine.
The punching bag hangs like a promise, and I walk straight up to it, crack my knuckles, and start swinging. No gloves. No music. Just my fists and the thud of contact.
Each punch lets something out.
Anger. Fear. Disgust. Hate.
My breath grows ragged. Sweat drips down my spine. I don’t stop until my arms are shaking and my legs are heavy.
When I finally drop to the mat, it’s like collapsing into silence. Anyone not doing yoga or some sort of meditation after the release of emotions and tension, is not completing the release. If you don’t replace that tension, hate, anger, frustration with calmness and serenity, all of the bad energy will find its way back much faster.
Child’s pose. Breathe in.
Hold.
Breathe out.
I move slowly through the flow, letting the ache ground me. Stretching the rage into calm.
This is the part that matters just as much as the fists. The stillness. The discipline. The reminder that I don’t have to be all fire and fury to stay sharp.
I can be quiet. And still dangerous.
When I finally sink into the last pose, I lie flat on my back and close my eyes.
Two hours.
I can hold it together that long.
I’ve hated him for ten years. I’ve survived worse than this.
This doesn’t break me.
It just adds fuel to the fire.
And I know exactly how to burn.
I rinse off quick, not bothering to blow dry my hair. It’s still damp, clinging to the back of my neck when I head down to Matteo’s office.
He’s sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled, jaw locked in concentration—but when he glances up and sees me, his expression shifts.
“I’m pretty sure your hair wasn’t wet earlier.”
I smile as I walk around his desk, smooth and easy, slipping into my role like it’s second nature. “That’s because I just got out of the shower.”
I lean down, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. “Took out some frustration on my punching bag. Logistics got under my skin, so I had to sweat it out.”
He grabs my waist before I can step back, pulling me into his lap with a growl that vibrates against my skin. “It’s a shame I missed all that. Would’ve loved to see you all worked up and glistening.”
His face buries in my neck, lips dragging over the damp curve of my shoulder. I breathe through it, keeping my smile sweet. No tremor. No tell.
Just as his hand starts to drift lower, the door creaks open.
Alessio’s voice follows. “Ah, young love.”
I jump up from Matteo’s lap like I’ve been caught doing something sinful. “Hi. I wasn’t—”
“You weren’t doing anything inappropriate,” Alessio says, waving off my awkwardness with a smile. “Relax, my dear. I simply came to speak about the infamous passageways you discovered.”
My heart stutters, but I hold my ground. “Yes… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. I was just putting a book away, and something clicked—”
“Nonsense,” he interrupts, stepping farther into the room. “This is your home too. You’re entitled to explore it. And it’s lucky for all of us that you did. Seems you’ve caught Luca on his own little agenda—again.”
I nod slowly. “Yes, but I didn’t get any video this time. I was stupid. I didn’t even think to record. And I have no idea what he was looking for.”
“I do,” Matteo cuts in, voice low but firm.
Alessio raises a brow. “Oh?”
Matteo leans back in his chair, casual in posture, sharp in tone. “I just found out about thirty minutes ago. He’s after our Colombian supply.”
My stomach tightens. “How do you know?”
He looks at me, his eyes flicking over my features like he’s memorizing them. “Big John got a call from Caesar. He said Caesar was pissed—talking too fast for John to catch half of it. So I called him myself.”
“And?”
“And Caesar said someone contacted him. Claimed they were taking over that portion of our arrangement. Wanted to renegotiate terms.”
Alessio lets out a low curse.
“I told him nothing’s changing,” Matteo continues. “And unless he hears directly from me, Alessio, or my wife…” His hand slides around my waist again. “…he shouldn’t believe a damn word.”
I blink. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” he says simply. “If for some reason I’m ever unable to handle things, you’re my wife. You act in my stead.”
Alessio smiles at that—proud, almost wistful. “Smart man.”