𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 || 𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 || 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟏 ✓

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎 | [𝐑]

𝘈/𝘕: ...𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.
𝘙𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘋 𝘙 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦.

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"𝑹𝒀𝑫𝑬𝑹?" 𝑰 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫, 𝑴𝒀 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆. Valentino's demeanor had shifted; the tension in his shoulders had melted away, leaving behind a practiced calm.

Yet, he was still flanked by two guards, with Enzo—the bearded one I remembered from earlier—shadowing his every step.

"Ryder is taken care of," Valentino said, his voice smooth and deliberate. "I had him escorted to his quarters."

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Did you send him off because of his sharp mouth or his actions?" I pressed, knowing exactly how unpredictable and defiant my brother could be.

Valentino tilted his head slightly, the movement almost lazy, though the playful smirk curling at his lips betrayed a sharper intent. "Well," he began, his tone light yet tinged with a disconcerting edge, "yes and no." He let the words hang in the air, a deliberate pause meant to sink deep. "I sent him because, if worse came to pass and my uncle decided to shoot, I wouldn't bother saving him over you."

The bluntness of his confession was like a slap, the kind that left an ache long after the sting. My steps faltered, and I stopped dead in my tracks. My breath hitched, my eyes locked on his back as he kept walking, unbothered. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only when Valentino, noticing my halt, came to a slow stop.

He turned to face me, his smirk widening, though it never reached his eyes. "Besides," he continued, his voice dipping into something deeper, more intimate, like he was sharing a secret he wasn't meant to voice. "I couldn't risk my uncle recognizing him. Those eyes..." His gaze swept over me, sharp yet strangely amused. "Truly, you Chandlers must have a death wish, parading your fate around so boldly."

I flinched, the realization striking me like a sudden chill. Ryder wasn't wearing his contact lenses anymore. His unfiltered gray eyes—a piercing shade so distinct from the golden hues that marked the Rossi bloodline—were a glaring tell, a betrayal of his connection to my family. Valentino had planned for this, every contingency mapped out with surgical precision. He wasn't leaving anything to chance.

My breath hitched, shaky and uneven, but I forced myself to match his pace as we continued down the corridor. The tension between us was palpable, an electric hum that neither of us dared to address. Words hovered unspoken, heavy and suffocating, while the silence stretched on like a taut wire.

The villa unfolded around us; its grandeur impossible to ignore. Ornate arches stretched across the hallways, their intricate carvings catching the soft, golden light from overhead sconces. The air carried a faint aroma of polished wood, mingling with a whisper of lavender that seemed to waft in from unseen corners. The richness of it all was overwhelming, yet it didn't feel ostentatious—just old, lived-in, and undeniably personal.