Book two of 'The Vengeance Duology'
Five years ago, the lads and I made the biggest mistake of our lives-a reckless decision that shattered everything.
We destroyed what mattered most, but my deepest regret is how much I hurt her.
Every moment of pa...
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A voice laced with a familiar thick Italian accent slices through the tension behind me. "It's not nice to talk about people like they aren't here."
I freeze, my muscles tensing, but I don't turn around. My eyes remain locked on Domenico, heart racing as the realization hits me. I very slowly turn around, and there she is—Phantom, standing there in all her glory. A man stands next to her, his face covered so I can't tell who he is, but there she stands—blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, a mask obscuring her features, dressed all in black.
"You have some nerve coming here," I say, my voice a low growl as I walk closer, every instinct screaming at me to be on guard.
She smirks, that infuriatingly confident smile spreading across her lips as she takes a step forward. Then, in a move that ignites the fire in my chest, she walks straight to my chair and sits down, lounging back like she owns the place. The fucking nerve of her.
The man behind her remains silent, just a looming shadow, as the tension in the room thickens. I'm torn between anger and disbelief. How dare she come here and act like she belongs?
"We don't need your help," I spit, standing in front of her, my fists clenching at my sides.
She looks up, crossing her legs with an air of casual defiance, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I think you'll find you do," she replies, her tone playful yet laced with a seriousness that makes my skin crawl.
It only now hits me that she's Italian, not Russian like I thought she was at the club. As if sensing my confusion, she lifts her hand to her hair and pulls it off—a wig? What the actual fuck? It falls away to reveal rich, dark brunette locks cascading down her back.
My heart races as the man steps up from behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he cues her, and I can't help but feel the tension spike even higher. I see her smirk cross her lips, the kind that stirs up both anger and an unsettling familiarity.
Then, she moves her hand to her mask, slowly peeling it away. My stomach drops, and I feel myself pale, a wave of nausea washing over me. The realization hits me like a train.
"Valentina..." I breathe, the name tumbling from my lips as disbelief grips me tightly.
Before I can process the shock of seeing her, the man behind her steps forward and removes his mask. My heart sinks as I recognize him. Jacques.
Everything I thought I knew—everything I believed about the girl I loved—shatters in an instant. She's been the fucking assassin coming after me. Phantom. The one who has haunted me for two years. The rage that builds inside me is suffocating, boiling hot, consuming every rational thought.
Memories flood my mind, flashing like a broken reel of film—conversations, hints I should have picked up on, moments where the truth was staring me right in the face.
