Page 113 of Blood Vows

“Yes,” Luca replied.

Marco’s gaze hardened. “And when I decide she’s a threat?”

Luca’s voice was ice. “Then you’ll handle it.” Handle it. Marco understood what that meant. He’d handled men who’d begged to live. He’d handled capos who’d sworn loyalty and then sold secrets. He’d handled cousins, uncles, and friends who were all supposed to be loyal to the Camorra name, but weren’t. Blood meant nothing when betrayal was involved.

He looked at her picture one more time, and something about her eyes bothered him. Not because they were beautiful—though they were. Because they were familiar. She looked at the camera as though she was warning him somehow. Her eyes looked back at him, like a locked door that someone had been trying to open for years.

Marco slid the folder shut. “Where’s the safehouse? Dante gave him the address. Marco tucked the thumb drive into his pocket without thinking. “I’ll speak to her.”

Luca’s eyes stayed on him. “Be careful.” Marco almost laughed. Luca didn’t say things like that unless the danger wasn’t a bullet. Unless it was something quieter—something that made men do stupid things.

“Careful isn’t what built the Camorra Family,” Marco said, and turned to leave.

The safehouse was in a quiet stretch of Queens—an unremarkable brownstone with cameras hidden in the eaves and men hidden in the shadows. Marco entered without knocking, his presence recognized before his face was even seen.

Inside, the air smelled like fresh paint and expensive detergent—the kind used to erase evidence. Two guards nodded as he passed. In the living room, a single lamp cast a warm circle of light across a couch, and sitting on that couch was Valentina Russo. She wasn’t restrained. There were no chains and no cuffs, but there didn’t need to be. The Camorras didn’t use restraints unless they wanted someone to feel hope.

Valentina stood when she saw him, slow and controlled, hands empty and visible. She wore a dark sweater and jeans, with her hair pulled back, and her posture straight, like she refused to let fear bend her spine. Her gaze met his, and she didn’t flinch or panic. She had her mask in place, just as he had, but hers was calm calculation.

“You’re not the one who grabbed me,” she said.

Marco stopped a few feet away. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re the one they called when they realized they didn’t understand what I had,” she assessed.

Marco’s expression didn’t change. “Who are you?”

A faint, humorless curve touched her mouth. “Someone who made the mistake of opening the wrong box, apparently.”

Marco’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what was inside the box?”

Valentina’s gaze didn’t waver. “A ledger.”

Marco felt the shift in his own body—subtle, involuntary. Like a predator recognizing a threat. “A Camorra ledger?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not exactly.” Marco took another step forward, watching her hands, her breathing, and all the micro-tells most people didn’t even know they had. He’d built his life on reading lies. Valentina didn’t lie with her body, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t lying.

“You understand what that encryption means,” she said quietly. Marco didn’t answer. “I didn’t,” she continued. “Not at first. But I know enough to know this wasn’t meant to be found. And I know enough to know that if I kept it, I’d die.” Marco’s gaze drifted to her throat. She wore no necklace, no cross, nothing sentimental. Another sign of a woman who’d learned not to carry what could be used against her.

“What do you want?” Marco asked.

Valentina looked him over and smiled back at him. “To live.” Well, she was getting straight to it. She wasn’t going to plead or bargain with him. She jumped right to the one truth every person in this world understood.

Marco let the silence stretch between them, long enough for her to feel what it was like to wait for a Camorra decision. “You’re asking the wrong family for help,” he said.

Valentina’s jaw tightened slightly. “I’m not asking for help, I’m offering it.” Marco’s attention narrowed at her, and Valentina’s gaze flicked to his pocket—his jacket, where the thumb drive sat. “I brought you proof,” she said softly. “But it’s not just proof of stolen money.”

Marco’s spine went still. “Then what is it?” Valentina swallowed once—just once, and for the first time, a crack in her control showed.

“It’s proof,” she whispered, “that someone inside your empire has been selling out your family.”

Marco’s eyes darkened. “Define selling out,” he breathed. Valentina met his stare with something that looked a lot like dread.

“Someone is selling names,” she said. “Routes, safe houses, and meeting places. People are disappearing right after they’re scheduled to show up.” Marco felt something cold move through him. Information like that got people killed. Information like that could topple Luca and start a war that would burn the city to the ground.

Marco stepped closer until he was in her space, his presence a wall she couldn’t ignore. “You’re either very brave,” he murmured, “or very stupid.”

Valentina’s breath caught—but she didn’t back away. “I’m neither,” she said. “I’m already dead if you don’t believe me.”