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CHAPTER FIVE

Valentina

“Yes, Mother, of course, we’re going to have a second party in California,” I say, balancing the phone on my shoulder as I attempt to brush Matilda’s wild curls.

For the millionth time, I wonder where the hell she got this hair since neither her father nor I have curly hair.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just come home now. Is it because of that boy?”

“That boy has nothing to do with this,” I grit out, giving up on the brush and opting for a loose braid instead.

“What boy, Mama?” Matilda asks, looking up at me with the devilish smile she inherited from her father.

“No boy, sweetheart,” I whisper, patting her on the head to go play. “No boys allowed in this house.”

“But Uncle Alfonso…”

“That’s right, go play with Uncle Alfonso,” I croon, petting her hair and leading her out of the bathroom.

“Valentina, I sense you’re busy. Would you like me to call you another time?”

“No! God, please, don’t call… again,” I blurt out, belatedly realizing my mistake. “I mean, now is the perfect time. I’m listening.”

“Your father is very angry.” Mother launches into the same spiel she’s given me every day since I refused my father’s order to come home. “He doesn’t understand why you won’t listen to him. He’s very worried, and you know what stress does to people who have… poor health.”

“Cancer, Ma,” I correct her, tired of this little game. “He has cancer, and he’s had it for three years. Listen, I’m twenty-six years old and responsible enough to be put in charge of a billion-dollar empire and a whole heap of people that depend on us—why am I not responsible enough to make my own decisions?”

“Of course, we think you’re responsible.” She hesitates. I can see the wheels spinning in her brain, trying to figure out how to gaslight me into agreeing with their wishes. “We just think California is safer for both you and Matilda.”

“We’re completely safe here,” I assert, hoping my voice sounds confident. “And we’re staying at least until I get the new business set up and fully functioning. End of discussion.”

“Oh dear, your father won’t like that.”

“No, he probably won’t,” I agree. My second line clicks, and I beg off, saying goodbye to my mother.

I switch over to the other line and spring into mom mode, dealing with the catering company for Matilda’s East Coast birthday party. By the time I get off the call, my brain is exhausted.

Between planning bicoastal birthday parties for a soon-to-be six-year-old, dealing with my ex coming back into my life, and running the mafia, I have zero brain power left. I’m on my way to take a much-needed hot shower when my phone pings again.

“Ugh, I swear if my mother is asking which fucking Disney princess she likes the most again…”

My grumbling stops immediately when I see it’s a blocked number. Weird. Maybe Enzo found a new number to message me from after I blocked him?

I open the message with shaky fingers, exhilarated and irritated at the same time. The message contains a link to a song and a signature. I study the signature for a second, wondering what the hell The8 means, then click the link.

It pulls up a video of an orchestra performing Songs and Dances of Death by Modest Mussorgsky.

I watch the entire video, mulling over what this could possibly mean. A vague memory of the song’s meaning bounces around in my brain—four deaths or something like that? But who would send this to me, and why?

My phone rings and I panic, dropping it on the floor. It clatters across the tiles, vibrating its way away from me. Feeling silly, I huff out a breath and snatch it up.

“Valentina, can you meet me at the complex?” Uncle Luigi’s voice echoes through my smashed speaker. “We have an… interesting problem.”

“On my way,” I confirm. I guess my hot shower will have to wait, I think, waving longingly at the beautiful walk-in shower.

After double-checking that Matilda is playing under the watchful eye of Uncle Alfonso, also known as her favorite nanny, I make my way to the complex.

Early morning flurries swirl around, creating diamond-like patterns on the windows, and I smile happily. It’s been years since I’ve seen snow—ever since my father got sick and we stopped going up to our ski lodge for Christmas.

When I pull into the empty parking lot, I quickly remember why I loved living in Southern California. The beautiful, sparkly white snow is already turning into gross gray slush on the sidewalks. It seeps into my leather boots as I navigate around puddles to the front door.

I spot Uncle Luigi pacing in the lobby at the front of the building and pick up my pace. My breath comes out fast in small white clouds as I hurry up the wide concrete steps. Inside isn’t much warmer, since the electricity isn’t fully on yet, but at least it’s dry.

“What’s going on?” I ask as soon as I’m in the lobby. I stomp the slush off my boots and rub my poor frozen hands against my thighs to get some feeling back into them.

“It seems we had a break-in sometime in the early hours of the morning,” Luigi says gravely and leads me to the back of the complex. We walk by large halls, past offices and bathrooms, and through an employee-only door into the warehouse.

This complex was a strategic purchase for our family. The front will function as a lifestyle space for the city—a combination of shops, restaurants, and cafés, plus a vintage arcade and movie theater.

The back warehouse juts out right into the marina, a perfect point for shipping and receiving products for our more illegal activities.

After Enzo’s complaint of fire, I instantly start scanning the roof and sniffing the space. “A fire or what?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Luigi assures me. “In fact, it’s really strange. They didn’t destroy or even steal anything. Just spray painted this.”

He gestures to a large expanse of empty wall featuring a new addition—a large red graffiti reading “lullaby is coming.”

“I told you it was strange,” he says, taking in my shocked face. “What do you suppose this means? We’ve been looking into the most well-known gangs and mafia families in the city, no one uses that as their calling card.”

“What the…” I move closer to the wall, running my fingers over the letters. The paint is still damp, and it streaks the pads of my fingers, covering them in blood red. “It’s fresh.”

“The system notified me an hour ago,” he confirms. “I thought it was a false alarm since… well, since this place is completely empty. I wondered what the hell anyone could want in here, but I drove down to check it out anyway.”

“Lullaby,” I read out loud again. As soon as the word leaves my mouth, panic takes hold. Lullaby, like the first of the four deaths in Songs and Dances of Death .

I sink to my knees, wondering what this connection means.

“Valentina?” Uncle Luigi asks, concern lining his face. He stoops down to grab a hold of my shoulder, peering into my face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I got a strange message this morning,” I admit, my voice shaking more than it should. “I thought it was a prank or something, but then, this…”

“Show me,” he demands, sticking his hand out for my phone. I open the message and place it in his palm.

Mussorgsky’s somber tones float over us, echoing in the empty warehouse, driving my heart rate up. I pull myself off the ground and grab the phone, shutting the video off.

“This is concerning,” he says, eyeing me. “We need to tell your father immediately.”

“No,” I breathe, knowing that will only result in someone forcing me onto a flight to California. “Please, Uncle Luigi, just let me handle this. You know how he’ll react.”

“I can’t hide this from him,” he says, his voice apologetic and soft. “But… I’ll do my best to make sure you can make your own decisions, regardless of what he says.”

My teeth chatter from the cold, and my fear as Uncle Luigi calls my father and explains the situation. I listen to their back and forth, but my mind is far away, doing mental gymnastics.

We don’t know anyone in this city, except Enzo. It wouldn’t be him—this doesn’t seem like his type of game.

Although he’s the only one who knows my new number… and my love of classical music.

“Enzo Cavalli. Mark my words, he’s the rat behind this.” My father’s angry voice brings me back down to earth.

“I’m not sure, Lev.” Uncle Luigi hesitates. “This doesn’t seem like something he’d do. Hacking our computers? Sure. But breaking and entering?”

“He has an entire crew working for him now,” my father rages through the tiny speaker. “Of course he wouldn’t do the dirty work. Luigi, find out what his game is.”

“You want us to set up a meeting?”

“I want you to make sure he knows his place,” my father spits. “In whichever manner you choose. And Valentina?”

“Yes?” I squeak, terrified to get roped into this conversation. I can kill a man with my bare hands, but facing the wrath of my father is something else entirely.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere near Cavalli, or I swear, I’ll charter a plane there and drag you home myself.”

“Yes, Father,” I whisper, suddenly feeling like I’m nineteen years old and terrified of my father’s rage again.

After he clicks off, Uncle Luigi wraps his arm around my shoulders and leads me out of the warehouse. We make our way through the sludge to our cars.

“I should be in this meeting,” I say, finding my voice again.

“I know,” he admits.

We stand in the cold, not knowing how to proceed. Uncle Luigi would never double-cross my father, but he’s well aware that I’m technically in charge.

“He wouldn’t do something like this,” I finally venture.

“I know that too.” Luigi agrees, the steam escaping his mouth and floating up in curling wafts of white. “Listen, how about we shelve this for now and focus on getting the business ready? If anything else strange happens, we’ll reach out to the Romanos.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes threatening to spill the tears I’ve been holding in.

As rare as it is, it’s painfully affirming to have someone acknowledge that my decision is the right one, even if it goes against my father.

As I head back home, desperate to have Matilda in my sight, I think about Mussorgsky’s piece. The first death was a lullaby—the death of a young child.

The second? A woman, I think. A single woman. I wrack my brain trying to remember the third. An old man, maybe. And the last one? Men at war.

Four deaths. Lullaby is coming.

No, Enzo wouldn’t do something like this. This is coming from a sick, sick individual , I realize as my brain starts putting things together.

Matilda is a child, I’m a single woman, my father is a sick man, and men at war? They’re all around me in the dark underbelly of the city.

Someone is coming for everyone I know.