𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑷 𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑮 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑳𝑪𝑶𝑯𝑶𝑳 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒐, 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒔. This was the second time he had returned drunk, but this time, it wasn't a surprise. He'd just lost his mother, and after vanishing for an entire week, it was almost inevitable.
The man who always carried himself with unyielding authority, the one who bent the world to his will with ruthless precision, was now teetering on the edge of something dark and volatile.
Without his iron clad routine, Valentino wasn't just unstable—he was lethal.
And that terrified me.
Because when sober, Valentino was predictable in his ruthlessness. His power came from being calculated, his every move sharp, deliberate, and meant to assert dominance. You could brace yourself against that kind of storm, anticipate it, even if it always left you battered in the aftermath.
But when he's drunk?
Valentino was chaos incarnate, a storm that had torn through his carefully constructed facade.
The alcohol stripped him down, erasing the polish and precision, leaving behind something raw and unfiltered.
This wasn't the Valentino I knew.
He was twice as potent, and became something else entirely—imperfect, exposed, and achingly human.
And nothing in this world was more dangerous than a human left alone with their own emotions.
