Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Her expression tightens slightly, confirming my assessment. "Is that how he described me? A business rival?"
"Among other things," I say vaguely, allowing her to fill in the blanks with whatever worst suspicions she harbors.
The tactic works—her composure slips just slightly, irritation flickering across her perfect features. "I imagine he painted me as quite the villain in his narrative. The grasping aunt, the power-hungry usurper of what rightfully belongs to Viktor's blood."
I say nothing, letting the silence prompt her to continue, to reveal more in her desire to justify herself, to correct what she assumes Gabriele has told me.
"What he fails to mention," she continues after a moment, "is that I built the Biancardi empire alongside my brother. That I was the one who maintained it during the difficult transitions, who expanded it beyond old territorial limitations, who modernized operations while maintaining traditional values."
"And yet Viktor inherited control rather than you," I observe, watching her reaction carefully.
Fury flashes in her eyes, quickly contained but unmistakable. "A disappointing decision by my brother, based on outdated notions of male primogeniture rather than merit or capability. One Viktor was intelligent enough to recognize as flawed, which is why he began including me in strategic decisions toward the end."
The revision of history is breathtaking in its audacity. From everything Gabriele has told me, Viktor kept Valentina at arm's length precisely because he recognized her dangerous ambition, her willingness to sacrifice anything and anyone for power.
"And now that Viktor is gone," I say carefully, "you believe control should revert to you rather than to his blood relatives."
"Half-blood relatives," she corrects immediately. "Products of my brother's infidelity, with no upbringing in our traditions, our values, our methods. What could you possibly know of leading the Biancardi interests? What training have you had? What sacrifices have you made?"
The questions are rhetorical, designed to emphasize my unsuitability rather than genuinely seek information. I answer anyway.
"None," I acknowledge simply. "Which is why I've never claimed any interest in the Biancardi empire or its leadership."
This gives her pause, breaking the rhythm of her self-justification. "You expect me to believe you have no designs on your brother's position? His fortune? His influence?"
"I didn't even know Viktor existed until Gabriele told me," I point out. "I was perfectly content with my life, my craft, my small business. I never sought connection to the Biancardi name or the power it represents."
Skepticism colors her expression. "Everyone wants power, my dear. Some are simply more honest about it than others."
"Not everyone," I counter quietly. "Some want peace. Purpose. Connection. Things power often precludes rather than provides."
She studies me again, something almost like puzzlement in her gaze. "You truly believe that," she says, sounding genuinely surprised. "How... quaint."
I say nothing, recognizing the fundamental gap in worldview that makes true understanding between us impossible. To Valentina, everything is viewed through the lens of power—acquiring it, wielding it, preventing others from taking it. The idea that someone might genuinely not desire it is incomprehensible to her, can only be interpreted as naiveté or deception.
The SUV continues through the city, taking turns seemingly at random but undoubtedly following a carefully planned route to evade tracking or pursuit. I maintain awareness of our direction, noting landmarks when visible, counting approximate distance and travel time.
Eventually, we turn onto a private road, trees close on either side preventing clear sightlines. The property beyond is substantial—not as large as Gabriele's coastal estate but significant, with security features visible even in the growing darkness.
"Welcome to one of my more private residences," Valentina says as the SUV pulls to a stop before a low, modernist structure built into the hillside. "Not as ostentatious as some of my homes, but functional for our purposes."
I'm escorted inside by the false server, Valentina following with unhurried confidence. The interior is minimalist, elegant, with the kind of cultivated simplicity that speaks of extreme wealth rather than actual restraint.
We move through the main living area to a lower level, where the décor shifts from residential to something more utilitarian—concrete floors, steel furnishings, recessed lighting that creates more shadows than illumination.
"You'll wait here," Valentina directs, gesturing to a sparsely furnished room with a single chair positioned in the center. "I have matters to attend to before our final conversation."
The implication is clear—this is my holding cell until she's ready to conclude whatever she has planned. The door closes behind her with a definitive click, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock engaging.
Alone for the first time since the abduction, I allow myself a moment of genuine fear. The carefully maintained composure, the strategic engagement with Valentina—these were tactics Gabriele taught me to buy time, to gather information, to keep my abductor talking rather than acting.
But now, in this sterile room with its single chair and its locked door, the reality of my situation hits with full force. I've been taken by a woman who has already tried to kill me multiple times, who sees me as an obstacle to her ambitions, who has demonstrated absolutely no moral restraint in pursuing her goals.