Chapter 12 - The Phantom Heiress
Within two hours, the tranquil Italian coastline was swallowed by a thick, unnatural sea fog. Marcus, who had survived the shootout on Bainbridge Island with severe scarring across his chest, pulled our armored sedan onto the narrow mountain road above the cliffside.
“They shut down the regional airport in Naples, Boss,” Marcus warned, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Private gunships landed twenty minutes ago. Valentina Vance is leading the strike team herself.”
I flinched at the name. “Who is Valentina Vance?”
Dante’s hands tightened around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Six years ago, before I met you in Seattle, my father arranged a marriage between myself and Valentina—the daughter of the Sicilian Syndicate chief. It was supposed to unite the Northwest ports with the European network. When I broke the engagement to protect you, her family lost billions. She swore she would butcher anyone who replaced her.”
Before Dante could finish, a heavy armored transport vehicle rammed our rear bumper, forcing our sedan sideways toward the razor-sharp cliff edge.
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Glass shattered. Smoke filled the cabin as the driver’s side door was torn open by hydraulic clamps. Standing in the fog, dressed in a sleek charcoal trench coat with a ivory-handled dagger strapped to her hip, stood a woman with platinum hair and eyes as cold as glacier ice.
Valentina stepped forward, aiming a silenced pistol directly at my face. “Hello, Claire,” she purred, her voice dripping with venomous amusement. “I’ve spent six years waiting to meet the little ER doctor who made Seattle’s king run away like a coward.”
