COFFEE, CORPSES, AND CONTROL
Villa De Luca. 6:17 a.m.
Valentina stirred beneath sheets that smelled like danger and sandalwood. Morning’s first light filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, softening the sharp corners of the room where she had tangled herself in the arms of a monster just hours before.
Adriano was no longer in bed.
She sat up slowly, stretching like a cat, every movement deliberate, maintaining the illusion of languid ease. But beneath her skin, her nerves were already coiled tight. The silence felt too curated—too perfect. And in a place like this, perfect silence meant something was very, very wrong.
Then it came. A sound. Muted but unmistakable.
A gunshot. Close.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t scream. She simply froze—the kind of motionless awareness that could only be born from trauma, training, and survival.
Silently, she slipped out of bed and moved to the open window, careful not to disturb the curtain. Below, near the east courtyard, four men in dark suits stood around a bloodied shape on the ground.
One of them—she couldn’t tell who—lowered a silver pistol with slow finality. The others stood in composed silence.
A fifth man knelt beside the body, head bowed. Perhaps he had confessed. Perhaps he had begged. Either way, it was too late.
Crimson bloomed across the white gravel like spilled wine.
Then a sixth figure stepped into view.
Adriano.
Unmasked. Cold. In absolute control.
He nodded once to the shooter, a silent directive, and turned back toward the villa as though he had simply confirmed a delivery. Not a murder.
Valentina exhaled. Slowly. Deliberately. Not because she was afraid—she wasn’t allowed to be. She pressed a hand against her chest, not to calm herself, but to remind her heart to keep its rhythm steady. This was the man she intended to seduce. Marry. Betray. And this was what he did before breakfast.
She returned to bed as footsteps approached, slipping on the silk robe draped at the foot of the mattress. Composing her features into something cool and amused, she crossed her legs under the sheets and picked up the espresso on the tray.
The door opened.
Adriano entered, cuffing the sleeves of his shirt, his face unreadable. He paused when he saw her awake, alert behind lazy eyes, looking as if she hadn’t just watched a man die on the cobblestones below.
“You didn’t try to sneak out,” he said, voice low and vaguely amused. “That’s new.”
She tilted her head. “Should I have?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Most women don’t stay for espresso and silence.”
She sipped from the porcelain cup. “Then most women clearly miss the point of both.”
He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. Still trying to figure her out. She could see it—he didn’t trust her, but he was drawn to her. She wasn’t what he expected. She wasn’t afraid.
“You sleep through noise, Miss...whatever-your-real-name-is.”
She set the cup back on its saucer with care. “I find most noises are overrated. The real danger’s always in the silence that follows.”
That brought a darker smile to his face. “How poetic. Or practiced.”
Valentina leaned back into the pillows, letting the robe slip just enough to remind him of what lay beneath. “Maybe both.”
He lingered a beat too long before speaking again. “He lied to me,” he said as he turned toward the closet. “The man in the courtyard. He said something wasn’t his fault. Turns out it was.”
Valentina’s fingers tightened beneath the sheets. He glanced at her over his shoulder.
“You ever kill for less than a lie?”
Her voice was steady when she answered. “I never kill unless I’m paid. Or cornered.”
He nodded, almost like approval. “Fair.”
She smiled, but her mind was already racing. Stay focused. Stick to the role. Wear the mask. Never flinch.
Because men like Adriano De Luca didn’t just break hearts. They buried them.
“You’re quick,” he said, watching her closely.
“And you’re predictable,” she replied without missing a beat. “I knew you’d offer coffee. You strike me as the kind of man who starts his mornings with bitter roast and sharper regrets.”
“Regret is for the dead.”
“Charming. Tell me, do you always seduce strangers at masked galas and interrogate them over breakfast?”
“Only the ones who lie to me with conviction.”
“I told you—Catalina Marchesi.”
“And I told you,” he said, his voice like a blade wrapped in velvet, “you lie beautifully.”
She offered a faint smile. “Then let’s keep dancing with lies. At least until the coffee runs out.”
“Stay.”
She lifted a brow. “You offering me a toothbrush or a collar?”
“Neither,” he said, walking past her. “Yet.”
Later that day, in a safehouse loft across the city, Valentina whispered into her burner phone. “I didn’t plan on it,” she told Lola. “He moved fast. Like, cold fury and silk sheets fast.”
“You slept with him on night one? Damn, V. Even for you, that’s bold.”
“It wasn’t planned.”
“Do I hear regret?”
“No. Just adjusting the timeline.”
“You’re gonna get burned.”
“Not if I keep control.”
“This man kills people, V. You’re not scamming a CEO with mommy issues. You’re diving into the De Luca family. Blood, bullets, and bodies.”
“Exactly why it’s worth it. Six months, Lola. In and out. Quick marriage, quiet exit, fat settlement.”
“You know prenups exist, right?”
“Not when the man is obsessed.”
“And what if he doesn’t fall for you?”
“Oh, he already has. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“You’re playing with fire, girl.”
Valentina smirked faintly. “I grew up in Havana. I bathed in fire.”
That evening, back at the estate, Adriano found her in his study.
“You’re still in my house,” he said without preamble.
“I was invited. Sort of.”
“You should’ve left. I don’t do second nights.”
“Yet here I am. Still wearing nothing but your shirt and confidence.”
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of predators who mistake curiosity for control.”
“You speak like a woman used to getting her way.”
“And you touch like a man who doesn’t say please.”
He studied her, then spoke. “I have a proposition.”
“That’s what you said last night,” she murmured with a smirk.
“Be useful to me.”
“I was already very useful last night.”
“Officially. Join my staff. Not as a toy. As a hostess.”
She blinked. “A hostess? Like... pouring wine and smiling pretty?”
“For select clients. Private meetings. Eyes, ears, charm. You can handle that, can’t you?”
Her tone softened, but her resolve didn’t. “I can handle anything.”
“Then start tomorrow.”
Hours later, back at the rooftop apartment, Lola’s voice crackled through the phone. “He offered you a job? This is perfect. You’re in.”
“It’s earlier than I expected,” Valentina replied. “I wanted a slow seduction. A build-up. Make him chase.”
“Maybe he is. In his own way.”
“Or maybe I’m walking into a lion’s den with perfume on my neck and a bullseye on my back.”
“You’re overthinking.”
“No, I’m under-trusting.”
“You sure you’re still in control of the plan?”
“I am the plan.”
A memory flickered to life—Havana, years ago. The casino’s noise pulsed around them.
“Why this guy, V?” Lola had asked. “There are rich men, and then there are warlords.”
“Because no one cons a De Luca,” Valentina had said. “That’s the myth.”
“And you like killing myths?”
“I like rewriting them.”
“You’re not even scared, are you?”
“I’m terrified. Which means I’m alive.”
On her first night as hostess, Adriano gave her two rules. “Smile with your mouth. Never with your eyes.”
“Because truth lives in the eyes?”
“Because weakness does.”
“Duly noted.”
“Rule two. You see something illegal, you didn’t.”
“I’ve never seen a thing in my life.”
“Good girl.”
She gave him a look. “Call me that again, and I’ll spill wine on your custom suit.”
He smirked. “Tempting. But those suits cost more than your secrets.”
She leaned in slightly. “You’d be surprised what my secrets cost.”
Later, after the guests had gone and the wine had dried on the glasses, Adriano watched her from his desk.
“You kept your cool.”
“I’ve been around sharks before.”
“These aren’t sharks,” he said. “These are wolves in Armani.”
“Then I’ll learn how to bite.”
“Tell me something, Catalina.”
“What?”
“Why are you really here?”
She held his gaze. “Isn’t it obvious? The money. The thrill. The wine.”
“No one with your steel spine walks into hell for wine.”
“Maybe I’m just looking for something hotter than fire.”
Alone that night, Valentina whispered into her burner phone. “Day One. Inside. Got the job. He’s watching me like a lion who’s already tasted blood. I don’t think he trusts me. But he wants me. That’s enough... for now. Countdown begins. Six months. No love. No fear. No truth. Just the game.”
She paused, the silence humming with something close to doubt. Her fingers trembled as she rewound the recording—then deleted it.
“No room for softness. No room for real. You screw this up, Valentina, and it’s not just heartbreak... it’s body bags.”
She pulled the sheets around herself and stared at the moonlit skyline beyond the cracked window. Somewhere in the house, a predator slept. Or plotted.
In the De Luca wine cellar, Gianni studied his boss.
“You’re letting her in too close, boss.”
“She’s clever. I want to see where she breaks.”
“Could be dangerous.”
“All women are dangerous. Some just don’t know it yet.”
“And her?”
Adriano smirked. “She knows. That’s why I’m keeping her.”
“You sure it’s wise to make a chess piece out of a queen?”
“Only if I can checkmate her first.”
He raised a glass of aged red wine to his lips, watching the flames crackle in the hearth.
“Catalina... or whatever your name is. Let’s see how long you dance before the fall.”