Page 114 of Blood Vows

Marco stared at her for a long beat, and then he pulled the thumb drive from his pocket and held it up between them. “This encryption,” he said. “It’s mine.”

Valentina’s eyes widened—just slightly. “You made it,” she said.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“And you didn’t give it to my father?” she asked. Marco watched the realization form behind her eyes, slow and sharp.

“No,” he said.

Valentina’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then my father must have stolen it.”

Marco’s gaze hardened. “Or he wasn’t the one who put it in that box.” She went still, because now she seemed to understand the true danger she was in. If someone wanted that ledger to be found, it wasn’t for money. It was to draw the Camorras toward something worse.

Marco leaned in, voice low enough that it felt like a threat and a promise at once. “From this moment on,” he said, “you don’t leave my sight.”

Valentina’s eyes flashed. “I’m not your prisoner.”

Marco’s mouth curved into a wolfish grin, cold and precise. “In this house, you’re whatever I decide you are.” Silence filled the air between them as Valentina stared at him like she wanted to hate him—like she needed to.

Then she asked the only question that mattered. “Who are you?” she said.

Marco didn’t blink. “Marco Camorra.” Her breath hitched, and he realized that she recognized his name. Not of him as a man, but of his name as a weapon.

Valentina’s throat moved as she swallowed again. “So you’re the one who controls the empire from behind the curtain.” Marco watched her carefully, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something shift in his chest—an unfamiliar sensation that had nothing to do with threat analysis and everything to do with instinct, because Valentina Russo wasn’t looking at him like he was a monster. She was looking at him like he was the only thing standing between her and death.

Marco’s voice sounded like pure danger. “Tell me everything,” he said. “Starting with the box.” Valentina’s lips parted as downstairs, somewhere beneath the brownstone, a soft mechanical click sounded. It was so faint most people would never hear it, but Marco did. His head snapped toward the sound, every muscle locking into readiness.

Valentina saw the change in him immediately. “What is it?” she whispered. Marco didn’t answer. He moved fast, grabbing her wrist and yanking her behind him as he reached for the gun under his jacket.

The window exploded inward in a shower of glass, and the night turned violent. Marco shoved Valentina to the floor behind the couch, throwing his body over hers like a shield as bullets tore through the room. Someone had sent a hit team after her, and he knew that it had to be professional. They weren’t here to scare her. They were here to erase her.

Marco fired back, precise, controlled—two shots, then three. His mind was already counting exits and angles. He heard a body hit the floor outside the door, followed by more footsteps and movement.

Valentina’s breath was sharp behind him, and he could tell that she was fighting panic with sheer will. Marco leaned down, mouth near her ear. “Do exactly what I say,” he ordered.

Valentina’s voice trembled, but her eyes stayed steady. “I can do that.” Marco’s jaw tightened. That was good, because if she broke down now, they both died.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, keeping her low as he moved them toward the hallway. Another gunshot shattered the lamp, and darkness swallowed the room. Marco pushed Valentina against the wall, his body blocking her as he fired blindly toward the window. Then he felt it—something he hadn’t expected. Valentina’s hand gripped his arm as though she was anchoring herself to him, like she refused to be left behind.

Marco’s voice went lethal. “Stay with me.”

Valentina nodded, her eyes bright in the darkness. “I’m here.” Marco didn’t know why that hit him harder than the bullets could have, but it did. Because in that single heartbeat, Marco Camorra understood something he’d never allowed himself to consider. This wasn’t just about money. This wasn’t just about betrayal. This woman—this problem Luca had handed him—was now connected to him by something far more dangerous than encryption. She was connected to him now through survival, and when the Camorra family took you in, you belonged to them.

Marco tightened his grip on Valentina’s hand and dragged her down the hallway toward the back exit. Behind them, the safehouse burned with gunfire, but ahead of them, the city waited. Somewhere in the dark, an invisible enemy smiled, because the game had finally begun, and Marco Camorra had just taken the most dangerous piece off the board—his.

Valentina

Valentina had always believed panic would feel louder—like screaming, crying, or maybe complete hysteria. Instead, it felt strangely quiet. Her hand was locked around Marco Camorra’s as he pulled her through the back hallway of the safehouse, and all she could hear was the sharp rhythm of her own breathing and the gunfire exploding behind them. Bullets ripped through walls, glass shattered somewhere in the living room, a man shouted, followed by another shot that silenced him.

Marco never slowed. “Keep moving.”

Valentina stumbled after him. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” he ordered. Even now, apparently, he was an asshole. She would have told him so if she’d had enough breath. Marco reached the kitchen, released her hand long enough to shove open a narrow door near the pantry, and then grabbed her again. “Down.”

Valentina stared at the staircase beyond it. “Where does that go?”

“Basement,” he said. “Don’t ask questions, just go.”