Before Valen

37

"Hello . . . Silvio."

   He lowered his gun to his side, confused as he fixed his gaze on the sight of the room. He felt all his blood drained to his feet.

   "What's going on, here? I thought you were . . ."

   He focused his attention on the woman that aimed a silver plated gun at his person—relaxed in his seat as she crossed her knees.

    In his beaten up state, nothing fazed him more as he felt he had been dumped a cold bucket of water. Repeatedly as the minute grew.

   "You, you weren't to be—"

   "Thought I was dead." she asked with a sly smile.

   "You were supposed to . . . meant to be . . . Valen " he called out distorted and puzzled.

   He wondered where was the bastard that had decided to play a sick twisted trick on him. He killed his exes and now . . . his wife was dressed up in black and fancy.

   He glanced around to find the room empty, leaving just alone—he wondered if there was a mini bomb attached to her, or worse poison. 

   But she didn't have to pretend around him.

   "My name is not Valencia, but  Victoria Ciro." she said as she uncrossed her legs.

   What was she saying, he thought.

   He stepped back and shook his head at the sight. It all had to be wrong. His Valen would never— she needed him.

   His enemies took her away and she was hurt.

   No.

   He raised his gun back up at her, his hands shaking as he took a step toward her.

   "Ricco had no one, not to talk less of a daughter. Stop playing around, Valen." he said, cutting through her concrete bullshit. He could help her if she would let him.

   Take his hand like she always did.

   But he felt threatened and attacked as the same time—as she threw her head back on the chair, laughing like a villainous jackal. Cackling at him.

   For the first time, he didn't recognize the woman before him since he had known her to speak so coldly at his misery.

   His heart sank and his stomach heaved with dread as his eyes searched her face for a traced of the bruises he saw they had done to her.

   He searched for a body that hinted she was controlled by someone, messing with his family and life.

   Instead he saw a strangely familiar face, straight hair, darker shades of makeup and an smokey look that his Valen swore she hated.

   Silvio saw a different persona from the woman he promised himself to for all of eternity—the woman, broken by his betrayal . . . and in pain.

   He was shown a new character that never existed entirely in his mind until now.

   "You know my father was always a smart man. Meticulous. A cunning fox." Valen lied.

   It's not true.

   "He hid my mother until she gave birth to me and sent me away under a false identity."

   Stop lying to me. Let me help you.

   "For years, I lived my life—waiting to take my life as my father's heir. I trained harder than my father's men." she said.