Chapter 82 What the Truth Costs
Valentina
We pulled up to the estate just after 1 a.m.
The house was quiet, wrapped in shadows. No lights on. No movement. Just that low, humming silence that comes when even the ghosts have gone to bed.
Matteo didn’t say a word as Rosco parked. He just got out and came around to open my door like always—effortless, entitled, annoyingly gentlemanly.
I stepped out and started toward the house, but he caught up and fell into step beside me. The gravel shifted under our feet, the air thick with lingering tension neither of us seemed eager to name.
When we reached my door, I turned to thank him—say something neutral, safe.
But his hand was already there.
He reached up and tilted my chin toward him, his touch light but firm. Commanding. His thumb brushed just under my jaw.
“You did good tonight,” he said, voice low, a rasp of heat in the dark. “With the cop. Kept your cool.”
I tried to respond, but my breath caught.
“And with Tabitha…” His eyes flicked over my face, something unreadable in them. “The second you realized I was helping her, you just—stepped in. No hesitation.”
Then he kissed me.
Hard.
No warning. No slow lead-in. Just heat and purpose, like the kind of kiss you give when you’re done pretending not to want it.
I froze. For a second.
Then I kissed him back.
Because my body had no clue what the hell my mind was doing anymore, and everything about this man made it harder to think.
He pulled back slowly, his breath warm against my lips.
“I’ve got some work to finish before I call it a night,” he murmured, thumb brushing my cheek one last time. “You should get some sleep.”
Then he turned and walked away—just like that. Back toward his office, like he hadn’t just detonated my nervous system and walked off with the fuse.
I stood there for a full five seconds before finally opening my door and stepping inside.
I closed it quietly behind me, leaned against it, and let out a shaky breath.
What the hell was that?
My pulse was still hammering. My mouth still tingled. And my brain was doing that stupid thing again—replaying moments from the day like a broken film reel. Matteo with Tabitha. Matteo with Cynthia. Matteo kissing me like I was his to have.
I hated this man.
Didn’t I?
I pushed off the door and crossed to the desk. Pulled the laptop out from under the stack of books I’d buried it beneath for safekeeping. The files. I needed to look at the files again. I needed proof.
Because what I’d seen tonight didn’t match what I thought I knew. And that terrified me more than anything else.
I opened the folder of photos and scrolled until I found the first one that had turned my stomach days ago:
File 004
Subject – Avelina R.
Age: 16
Birthday: October 2
Height: 5’3”
Weight: 103 lbs
Measurements: 30-23-33
Taken from: Sinaloa, Mexico
Sold to: Ivan Zvezdev, Bucharest
Amount: $120,000
Condition: “Unmarked, compliant”
I stared at it.
Everything about it still felt horrific—cold and clinical and vile. But now… I noticed something I hadn’t before.
There was a red asterisk next to the buyer’s name.
I tapped to the next photo, the one I’d skipped over before because it didn’t seem important—just messy, handwritten notes and abbreviations.
But this time I read every line.
Ivan Z: boat accident. Deceased.
Avelina: reunited with family.
My heart stuttered. I went back again and re-read it, slower this time.
Ivan was dead.
The girl had been returned to her family.
I blinked. What?
Then I noticed a third image I’d overlooked before. A document titled: Ownership Transfer Record
• Acquired: 2/18/2014 – J.R.
• Transferred: 2/19/2014 – S.M.
• Sold: 6/8/2014 – I.Z.
I knew I.Z. That was Ivan Zvezdev. But the other two initials…
J.R. and S.M.
Not Matteo.
That’s when the knot in my chest twisted tighter.
He wasn’t involved in this one.
I opened the next file. File 007. Same layout. Different girl. Same initials.
Acquired by J.R., transferred to S.M., and sold to someone else entirely. That buyer was also marked as deceased. The girl listed as safe location established.
I kept going.
Three more files.
Same pattern.
J.R. – Julio Rojas.
I found a note in the margin on one: Julio Rojas – deceased, snake bite. Another red asterisk.
Each file followed a similar chain of events. Acquisition by J.R., transfer to S.M., buyer ends up dead, and girl… safe.
Not a single mention of Matteo.
Not once.
Four files now, combed through line by line. Four girls who were all returned after the buyer conveniently died. Four lives spared by something—or someone.
Could he have orchestrated that?
Was he saving them?
My heart was doing something stupid again, flipping in my chest like it didn’t remember the plan. The mission. The years I’d spent building my revenge on the ruins of my family’s blood.
I closed the laptop and stashed it away again. I couldn’t risk leaving it out, not even now.
The house was still silent. Still dark.
But I needed something—anything—to shut down the noise in my brain.
I padded to the bathroom and turned on the water, steam already curling through the air. I filled the tub and stripped out of my clothes, slipping in even though it was nearly 3 a.m.
Screw it.
My muscles ached. My thoughts were loud. And I still hadn’t decided if the man who kissed me tonight was my enemy… or my salvation.
But the water was hot.
And for now, that was enough.
I pinned my hair up with a clip and eased myself into the tub, sinking down inch by inch until the water lapped at my collarbones. Heat wrapped around me instantly, loosening muscles I hadn’t realized were clenched. I let my head fall back against the porcelain, eyes sliding shut, breath slowing as the steam filled my lungs.
For a moment, there was only water. Quiet. Relief.
Then—
A hand.
Warm. Solid.
It slid down the side of my neck, slow and deliberate, fingers grazing my pulse before drifting lower. My breath hitched as the palm cupped my breast, thumb brushing just enough to remind me I wasn’t alone.
My eyes flew open.
Matteo.