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The dining room in Valentina’s home was grand yet dimly lit to complement a late dinner. The faint glow of a crystal chandelier cast a warm golden hue over the long oak table that was adorned with fine linen, an assortment of silverware, and a spread of steaming Italian dishes.

Lasagna bubbled in Valentina’s dish, fresh-baked bread, olive oil gleaming in small bowls, and vibrant salads tossed with balsamic vinegar.

At the head of the table, her father —Lorenzo Romano—a commanding yet weary figure with slicked back graying hair, sat, his sharp features softening only slightly by age.

Despite his intimidating aura, he couldn’t deny the rare smile that slipped from his mouth when he watched his children bicker or joke around. He was dressed casually in a black nightshirt and matching pants, but the gold signet ring that glinted under the chandelier’s light was a reminder that he was no ordinary man.

He was dangerous when he needed to be, and he controlled worlds beyond their walls with the flick of a hand.

To his right, the eldest sibling—Enrico—sharp-eyed and serious, carved into a piece of roast with the perfection of someone accustomed to responsibility.

His voice carried weight, and though he rarely smiled, there was a protective air around him. There was a need for it. After all, he was the next in the line of succession after their father stepped down from his position. He had been training all his life for it.

Next to him, the middle sibling—Aldo—filled the room with laughter as he recounted an exaggerated story. He was the lighter of the two siblings, like Viktor, charming and effortlessly charismatic. Unlike Enrico, he always had something funny to say.

Across the table, Lucia—the second youngest Romano sibling—rolled her eyes but smiled regardless. Her quiet demeanor was a stark contrast to Aldo’s liveliness. She was the peacemaker in the family, often mediating between the strong personalities around them.

Then there was Valentina, the youngest. The apple of her father’s eye. She sat closest to Lorenzo, her plate piled high with her favorites. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she occasionally snuck glances at her father, measuring his mood.

She was the one her siblings met if Lorenzo was stubborn to their demands. There was a way she spoke to him that made him calm. Sometimes, Valentina wasn’t sure if it was because she was truly his favorite child or because she was the only one of the four of them who was the exact replica of their mother.

With her manners intact, she cut out a piece of lasagna with her fork and knife but was yet again unimpressed by the taste. Times like this reminded her of just how much she missed her mother.

Valentina was only a child when her mother left, but her face was still crystal clear in her memory. She had inherited her auburn hair, while the rest of her siblings grabbed their own share of her father’s—black mane of hair.

The Lasagna was a family recipe, one her mother created herself. Her mother wanted to be a chef, and the light in her eyes shone every time she spoke about cooking for a large number of people in her kitchen.

But ovarian cancer killed that dream. It killed many things if Valentina was being honest. It killed not just her mother but the warmth only a mother could give her. The pendant around her neck was a constant reminder that her mother still lived in her memory, but sometimes, it just wasn’t enough.

The cold jewel against her neck could never be compared to the feeling of being in her mother’s arms again. Remembering her voice could never be the same as listening to her sing Valentina to sleep. Inheriting her smile wasn’t the same as seeing it directed at her in real life, and it would never be.

No matter how much she tried to hold on to the memories, they were just fragments—like a mosaic with pieces missing, the full picture forever incomplete.

Valentina placed her fork down gently, her appetite fading with each thought. Her siblings were deep in conversation, voices weaving through the air with the easy rhythm of familiarity. But Val felt distant, as though she was somewhere far from reach, watching her family behind a glass wall.

“You don’t look well, tesoro ,” Lorenzo pointed out, his deep voice breaking through her reverie. “Is the food not to your liking?”

Val blinked, forcing a small smile. “I’m okay, Papa. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” Enrico interjected with a frown. His sharp gaze narrowed on her. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

Val hesitated, running her fingers along the chain of her mother’s pendant. She thought of telling them, of letting them know how much she missed their mother, but she stopped herself like she always would.

They wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t the same for her as it was for them. They had known their mother longer, had spent more time with her—time that she would kill to have. And yet, none of them seemed to carry the grief the way she did.

Besides, the last thing she wanted was for her to sound like a baby. They coddled her enough as it was.

So, she shrugged, deflecting. “It’s nothing. I’m just not hungry tonight.”

Aldo snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Well, that’s a first. You’re usually the one fighting for seconds.”

Val’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She was not in the mood for her brother’s lame jokes.

“You need to eat, Val,” Lucia chimed in softly. “Mama would have wanted that. You know how much she cherished family dinners.”

The words stung more than they were meant to. Val reached for her glass of water, taking a slow sip to fill the void in her chest, but it was useless.

“Mama would have wanted many things,” she said stiffly, her voice strong but cold. “She’s not here anymore to tell us what they are. If we can’t do anything to honor her memory, then at least we can have the fucking lasagna taste right . I don’t think it’s too much of a demand for the chefs to follow the recipe.”

The table fell silent. Even Aldo, always quick with a clever remark, stayed silent. Her father’s expression tightened, but he didn’t scold her. He didn’t have it in him to do so. He never did when the subject of his dead wife came up.

“Valentina,” Lorenzo began after a tense moment, his voice calm and measured, “your mother’s not gone from this table. She’s here in the food, in the recipes she left us. I understand your concern, but at the same time, it’s not just about getting an accurate result from the recipe but the love that comes from sharing food together as a family. That mattered more to your mother than how good the food tasted. She’s here in you, in all of us. And you know that.”

Val looked down, her fingers curling into fists in her lap, nails digging into her flesh. She knew he meant well—he always did—but it wasn’t enough. A recipe couldn’t hug her or sing to her. A memory couldn’t whisper words of comfort.

And the pendant around her neck? In reality, it was just a piece of metal and stone—a poor substitute for the woman who had given it to her on the eve of her death.

“I know, Papa,” she murmured. She picked up her fork again, cutting another small piece of lasagna. It still didn’t taste right, and she wasn’t sure if it ever would.

Slowly, her siblings eased back into a lively chatter. The topic of their mother was a sour one that was always avoided, and Val felt like kicking herself in the shin for ruining the moment because of her selfishness.

She forced herself to eat, but her mind was elsewhere. She was watching them behind the glass wall again, straying farther and farther until Enrico’s voice echoed her name.

Val blinked into focus, shifting her gaze to her brother. “What?”

“You’re not going out tonight,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. His dark eyes flicked toward her, and she could swear she saw a hint of amusement there.

“I didn’t even say I was going out.”

“But we know you,” Aldo cut in, lounging in his chair with an easy smirk. He swirled his wine glass carelessly, but a drop never spilled. “You always have that look on your face when you’re planning something reckless.”

You’re one to talk .

“What look?” she asked, growing annoyed.

“That look,” Lucia chuckled, gesturing toward her face. “The rebellious look.”

Her father chuckled, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. “ Tesoro , no one’s fooled. You think we don’t know you sneak out late?”

Val scoffed. “And what’s so bad about that? You all seem to be forgetting that I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m five years away from thirty.”

Enrico dabbed his mouth with a crisp white napkin. “You’re still a girl—”

She cut him short, gritting her teeth. “ Woman , you mean.”

Aldo laughed like a jackass, and Lucia hit him upside the head, warning him to behave even though she was trying and failing to hide her smile.

“Right,” her eldest brother continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “As I was saying, it’s dangerous out there. If you ever need anything, just ask one of us to take care of you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, mirroring his sarcasm, “but I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not a child.”

Lucia grinned, ruffling her hair with a teasing hand, and ducked away before Val could squeeze her talons into her sister’s wrist.

“Aw, but you’ll always be the baby of the family.”

Enrico sighed, setting his glass down with a heavy clink. “We’re just trying to protect you. Do you think we’d let anything happen to you? Not a chance.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Val shot back, standing abruptly. Her chair scraped against the floor, and her siblings exchanged glances again, this time less amused and more concerned.

Maybe it was the sullen mood about her mother or her irritation with her siblings, but she was desperate to return to her room. “How about you guys do something else with your time? Huh? Like getting married and settling down?”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Lorenzo chuckled, raising a hand. His voice, though amused, remained calm and commanding. “Dinner’s not over yet, Valentina. Sit down.”

She felt like a petulant child, resisting the urge to stamp her feet against the floor as she obeyed her father’s instruction.

His voice was quieter now. “You have to understand. We do this because we love you. Your mother would have wanted us to.”

Val’s chest tightened at the mention of her mother, and she lowered her gaze to her plate, a muscle in her jaw ticking as her father’s words reverberated in her ears.

She didn’t understand their insistence on babying her like this. It made her feel weak. The Romanos had no enemies and were always at peace with everyone. So, she did not understand the paranoia.

Yet, she remained silent, picking at her food. The conversation shifted after a beat, her siblings picking up the thread of some lighter topic, but she didn’t join in.

She was glad when dinner was over, and was the first to leave the table. She headed upstairs and took a long, hot shower, trying not to think of the drama that happened downstairs.

For a moment, she blamed herself. Somehow, she always found a way to ruin dinner. Maybe she just really needed to shut the hell up sometimes.

Val slipped into her purple nightrobe and gently padded down the stairs when she was sure everyone else was asleep. Her damp hair sprawled down her shoulders, cold droplets running miles down her skin.

She slipped through the back door of the kitchen, exhaling once she felt the rush of the cold night air bathing her skin. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of earth and distant pine trees.

The night sky stretched vast and infinite, its velvety black expanse dusted with countless stars like scattered grains of salt. Each shimmered with a soft, silvery glow, some flickering as though whispering secrets to the universe.

Above, a perfectly crescent moon hung low, casting a gentle luminescence that painted the landscapes in shades of silver.

Val removed a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, leaned against the balcony, and slipped a stick between her lips. Her favorite thing to do in moments like this was to smoke a blunt.

Stargazing and smoking equaled peace for her.

She flicked her lighter beneath the cigarette, the orange flame briefly flicking to life, reflecting in her irises as it ignited the tip. She inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around her lungs like a warm, heavy hug, before exhaling slowly, the gray tendrils weaving into the cool night air.

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back with a soft grin. The taste of smoke lingered on her tongue, bitter yet familiar, as the ember glowed steadily between her fingers, casting a soft light across her face.

Each drag felt like a moment of escape, the burn in her chest and the wind in her hair grounding her in the present, even as her thoughts drifted galaxies away.

The loud ringing of her phone threw a dagger in the blanket of peace enshrouding her, successfully ripping it apart. Her eyes flew open as the device vibrated against her thigh.

Frowning, she took out the phone, the name Rhiannon lighting up the screen.

A cloud of smoke escaped her lips as she lifted the phone to her ears. “Want me to tuck you in?”

She could picture Rhi rolling her eyes with a smile. “Adrian already did that. In the best way possible. You know, there’s this thing he does with his tongue that—”

Val scrunched her nose. “If you called me this late at night to talk about your sex life, best believe I’ll hang up without wasting a second.”

Her best friend’s soft laughter reached her ears. “That’s a story for another day,” her tone was tinged with excitement. “Mikhail’s throwing another event this weekend. I want you to come.”

Val sighed, glancing at the horizon beyond. She couldn’t deny the fact that she loved any party the Nikolais held. But she thought back to the last one and the comment that stupid man made that ended up ruining the rest of her night, even when she pretended she wasn’t affected by them.

We both know you’d beg me to fuck you .

Just thinking about it made her scoff silently. The nerve of Ilya Nikolai to make her feel this way because of nine stupid words. Nine words that shook her insides. Nine words that stomped on her pride. Nine good-for-nothing words that caused a different kind of fire to ignite in her belly at the thought of seeing him again.

You’re so arrogant; it’s almost endearing .

In reality, his domineering presence affected her too much to make her comfortable around him. And because of that, she always tried to act indifferent around him.

Did that make her arrogant, or was he just a big, fat jerk?

“I don’t know…” she trailed off. “The last Nikolai party didn’t exactly go well.”

Rhi laughed, unbothered. “Don’t tell me this is about Ilya.”

“He’s a fucking asshole, Rhi.”

“Which is why you should come to this one,” Rhi pressed, a smile in her voice. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of being bothered by his presence. Come on, it’ll be different this time. Just think about it. We could use some fun.”

Val hesitated, fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her phone. A sound at the back made her turn around, and she saw her father’s figure pushing the door open.

“I’ll think about it,” she murmured before hanging up.

The invitation lingered in her mind as her father’s face came into view. Val wasn’t surprised he was awake. He always stayed up late doing mafia business, and there were few times when they would smoke together on nights like this.

“Did I hear Nikolai?” was Lorenzo’s first question as they stood face to face, a calculating glint in his eyes.

Val leaned away from the balcony, pretending she was oblivious. “It’s nothing. Just Rhiannon inviting me to another one of their events.”

Her father’s expression shifted, a mix of intrigue and command. “You should go.”

“Papa,” she began, her voice laced with exasperation. She searched her mind quickly for a viable excuse, but she could tell he would not take no for an answer.

“Maintaining good relations with the Nikolais is important,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Their reach is vast, and it wouldn’t hurt for them to see a Romano at their gatherings.”

She hated that he was right. The Romanos were powerful, but they were a smaller group. Visibility and connection with a family as powerful as the Nikolais were crucial.

Val pressed her lips together, the weight of his expectations settling on her shoulders. Suddenly, she wondered what it must have been like for Enrico, having to live up to such standards as the first born every day of his life.

“You’re just using me as a chess piece now.”

Lorenzo frowned. “Don’t force words into my mouth, Valentina. Tell her you’re going.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone as irritation bubbled beneath her calm facade. But she knew better than to argue with him—giving in now would save her from a week of lectures and relentless badgering.

Valentina loved her father, but sometimes, he didn’t know when to stop.

“Fine,” she sighed, shooting Rhiannon a quick text. “I’ve just texted her that I’ll be there.”

She tossed the phone into her pocket and took a quick drag of her cigarette. “Happy now?”

“Very,” he said, a small, pleased smile playing on his lips. He took a cigarette from her pack and lit it up. “You’ll thank me one day, Tesoro .”

Valentina doubted it.