Chapter 3 - Return to the Lion's DenThe gates of the Valente estate loomed like iron teeth against the midnight sky. Less than forty-eight hours after being hauled away in handcuffs, I stepped out of Julian's black sedan right in front of the grand mahogany double doors.
My transformation was absolute. Thanks to Julian's resources, I wore a bespoke, razor-sharp crimson suit that commanded the room, my hair pinned back into a severe French twist, every trace of the terrified fast-food worker erased.
The heavy doors clicked open, revealing Dante Moretti. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized me, his hand instinctively dropping toward the holster beneath his armpit.
"Well, well," Dante sneered, blocking the threshold. "Look what crawled out of the gutter. Did the DA drop charges, or did you figure out a way to bribe the judge on minimum wage?"
Before I could answer, a deep, resonant voice echoed from the dimly lit grand staircase behind him.
"Let her enter, Dante."
Adrian Valente descended step by step. He looked exhausted, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath his piercing eyes, but the terrifying aura of absolute authority hadn't faded an inch. He stopped three steps up, looking down at me with a cold, analytical gaze that could freeze boiling water.
"You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Isabella," Adrian said, his voice a low gravelly purr. "My daughter nearly died because someone tried to discard her like trash. And you waltz back through my front door looking like a corporate assassin."
"I'm not here as a suspect, Mr. Valente," I said, stepping past Dante without breaking eye contact, my voice ringing steady and clear through the cavernous foyer. "I'm here as your only chance to find out who really tried to murder your daughter."
Adrian's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He descended the remaining steps in a single stride, closing the distance until I could smell the faint scent of sandalwood and gunpowder on his lapel.
"You think you can walk in here and play detective?" he whispered dangerously, his face inches from mine. "I should have broken your neck in the alley."
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"You should have checked your security logs, Mr. Valente," I replied, holding my ground without flinching an inch. "Because while you were blaming me, the person who drugged Emma and disabled your cameras was standing right behind you."
Dante Moretti’s face drained of color in a single, breathless second.
