The Milan suite was too quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that lulled. The kind that waited.
Valentina stood barefoot in her mother's old study, the soft creak of floorboards beneath her soles the only sound as moonlight poured through the antique windowpanes. The air smelled of dried roses, ash, and secrets.
Everything in this room had been preserved by Arturo Cruz like a tomb untouched since Elena's death.
Valentina had never been allowed in here as a child.
Now, she understood why.
She moved with purpose, fingers trailing over the carved wooden desk, the dusty library shelves, the crystal perfume bottle still half-full with a scent she could never forget. Her mother's presence still haunted this room. Velvet and smoke. Gold and grief.
Her fingers paused on a book: Il Patto del Sangue The Blood Pact.
She pulled it free. Pages fell open to a crease that had been folded and refolded. Something slipped out.
A faded photo.
Her mother smiling. Not the cold, poised mask she remembered. But alive. Laughing. Wind in her hair. In the photo, she wore a silver pendant shaped like a dagger and stood in front of a door carved with a sigil Valentina had only ever seen once on an old ring Arturo refused to explain.
She flipped the photo.
There, in Elena's slanted cursive:
"Per quando non mi ricorderai. Guarda dietro la bestia. Mamma"
(For when you no longer remember me. Look behind the beast.)
Valentina's brow furrowed.
Her eyes scanned the room again books, scrolls, relics.
And then she saw it.
A small bronze statue on the mantlepiece. A lioness. Fangs bared. Regal. Terrifying.
Valentina crossed the room and turned it in her hands.
Solid. Heavy. But
She tilted the base. Something clicked.
The bottom unscrewed with a soft hiss of preserved air.
Inside was a small velvet pouch, blackened by time.
Her heart pounded.
She opened it.
A vial.
No larger than her thumb. The glass shimmered with an iridescent red-gold liquid that moved too slowly to be just blood, and too thickly to be wine. It pulsed faintly as if alive.
Etched onto the glass: a sigil matching the one in the photo Ricci.
Valentina's breath caught.
This wasn't poison.
This was legacy.
She didn't know exactly what it was yet serum, blood compound, chemical weapon? but she knew what it meant.
Her mother had left behind a weapon. Not just for war but for transformation.
And only a Ricci heir could use it.
She stared into the glow. Her reflection stared back war queen, cartel daughter, bastard bloodline stitched together with grief and fire.
And now?
Now she was something else entirely.
Elsewhere — Venice
Lorenzo watched the fire burn in the alley behind the Bianchi casino.
Inside the flames, a black notebook turned to ash. Emilio's latest courier had screamed too easily under pressure. He had kept notes. Lorenzo had made sure they would never be read again.
Then, his phone buzzed.
A single photo.
Valentina's hand holding a vial.
No caption.
No explanation.
But he knew what it meant.
She was ready.
The game had changed.
And now it was her move.