Valentina's POV
Three weeks. That was all it took to erase Valentina Vitale.
The woman staring back from the mirror was a stranger.
Her hair, usually pulled into a severe, sensible bun, was now loose, darkened with a cheap dye that smelled of ammonia.
Her eyes, once sharp and alert behind the shield of her badge, seemed dulled, deliberately muted by the life she'd been pretending to lead.
I ran a hand under the cold tap and scrubbed at a stain on the uniform that wasn't really there. Maybe it was a nervous tick. Or maybe it was just trying to scrub away the feeling of polyester against my skin, a constant reminder that I was wearing a costume.
'He looked at me.'
The thought hit me unbidden, echoing through my mind. Salvatore Esposito.
'He looked at me. Really looked. For half a second, I wasn't invisible.'
I shook my head, trying to push it away. This wasn't about him. Not anymore. The mission was all that mattered.
I glanced at the small photo tucked between the mirror and the sink: Chiara. My older sister.
The reason I wore this disguise, the reason I'd walked into hell wearing someone else's name. She'd been where these drugs led, broken, hollow, and now barely alive.
Domenico's poison was still spreading.
And I was here to stop it.
The sharp buzz of my phone jolted me. A text.
"Package pickup. Via Roma. 2pm. Don't be late."
I exhaled, setting my jaw. One step at a time. No mistakes.
.
.
.
The café was quiet, tucked into a corner of the street where few noticed the comings and goings. I arrived fifteen minutes early, taking a seat near the window, trying to look like any other courier killing time before a job.
Rico was there, leaning against the counter, looking nervously over his shoulder. He didn't meet my eyes when I approached.
"You're on time," he muttered, sliding a small, nondescript package across the table.
I noticed immediately: the package felt off, it was too heavy, and had a wierd shape.
My fingers registered the inconsistency before my brain processed it. This wasn't documents. This wasn't cash.
My instincts screamed, but Rico's voice pulled me back before I could react.
"They're testing you," he whispered, glancing around. His hands trembled slightly. "Don't open it. Don't ask questions. Just deliver."
I wanted to ask who "they" were. I wanted to ask what was inside. But the rules of this world were clear: questions got you killed faster than mistakes.
I nodded, swallowing hard. The weight in my hands felt heavier than just cardboard and tape. Something about this felt dangerous.
And it was.
.
.
.
The delivery address was in a contested zone, which was the razor-thin line between Esposito and Domenico territory.
I memorized the route before I left the café. Three blocks north, one block east, building with the red door. The direction was simple and straight forward.
Except nothing in Sicily was ever simple.
Every step felt like walking a knife's edge. I could feel eyes on me, street-level curiosity as to who was this new girl.
Someone wanted to see what I would do.
I forced myself to walk normally, heartbeat hammering in my ears. When I saw the cameras lining the main street, new installations, the kind that fed directly to monitoring stations, I made a split-second decision.
I made it for the alley.
I knew it from my first week of reconnaissance. That I was to ensure there were no cameras, and no direct sightlines from the buildings above.
It added two minutes to the route, but it kept me invisible.
The walk through it felt endless. Shadows stretched across the walls like predators waiting to pounce.
Graffiti marked the boundaries: a crown on one side (Domenico), a wolf on the other (Esposito).
I was walking the line between two territories, carrying something I wasn't supposed to question.
My fingers tightened around the package. One misstep, one glance from the wrong person, and this could end catastrophically.
Water dripped somewhere. A cat hissed and darted away. My breath echoed too loud in the narrow space.
Then I was through.
The building with the red door stood ahead, unremarkable except for the two men flanking the entrance.
They watched me approach with the flat, dead eyes of people who'd seen too much violence to be impressed by anything.
I knocked. Three sharp raps, the pattern Rico had shown me.
The door opened. A hand appeared, scarred knuckles, gold ring, and took the package without a word.
I turned and walked away before anyone could even see my face clearly.
.
.
.
My phone buzzed three blocks later.
"Clean work. They're impressed."
Rico's text felt like both a victory and a sentencing.
When I returned to the café, he was waiting with a different expression. Less nervous. More calculating.
"You did a good and fast job" he said, leaning back in his chair.
"I just did what made sense."
"No." He shook his head. "Most people freeze. Or they follow the obvious route because they're too scared to improvise. You saw the cameras and adapted." He paused.
"Domenico values people who can think."
Before I could respond, one of the men who had been watching me earlier materialized at the table. Forties, broad shoulders, expensive watch. The kind of man who didn't introduce himself because everyone already knew who he was.
"Rico, your girl did good, we like her." he said to Rico, as they shook hands, then turned to look at me.
I kept my face neutral. "I'm just trying to do good work."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good work gets you more work. Keep it up."
Then he left, and I realized with cold certainty: I had passed a test I didn't even know I was taking.
Rico leaned back in his chair, eyes calculating. "You handled that well," he said slowly, letting the words sink in. "Not everyone can think on the fly like that. Most would've frozen."
I didn't answer, keeping my expression neutral, but my pulse had yet to settle.
He smirked. "Tonight… you're coming with us. Drinks. The gang. It's time you start seeing how we operate, not just running packages."
I raised an eyebrow. "With them?"
"Exactly," Rico said, leaning closer. "You've proven yourself. Now it's time to learn the rules from the inside."
I nodded, swallowing the nervous thrill rising in my chest.