Crystal chandeliers hung low over white tablecloths starched so stiff they seemed to cut the air. Servers moved like shadows, trained to appear only when needed and vanish the instant they weren't. At 7:30 on a Thursday evening, the dining room hummed with the low murmur of money being discussed and quietly relocated.

Julian’s face transformed instantaneously. The predatory coldness vanished, replaced by the warm, concerned countenance of a doting uncle.

"Val!" Julian turned, spreading his arms wide. "I came by to drop off the quarterly risk assessments for the shipping logistics division, and I thought I'd bring the girls these bears. But your new... governess seems to think I'm an intruder."

Valentino glanced from Julian to Becca, and then to the darkened corner behind the wardrobe, where three pairs of wide, terrified eyes reflected the nursery lights like nocturnal animals trapped in a cave.

His jaw tightened. "The girls need rest, Julian. Leave the toys with Mrs. Gable. We'll review the logistics files in my study."

Julian held his hands up in mock surrender. "Of course. Anything for the girls. Don't work yourself to death, Val. Elena wouldn't want you carrying the whole world alone."

Julian turned, giving Becca a long, deliberate look that made her skin crawl, before striding down the corridor.

Valentino waited until the sound of Julian’s footsteps had completely faded down the grand staircase before stepping into the room. He looked at the chaos of finger paint on the floor, his eyes instantly locking onto the massive butcher paper.

He walked slowly toward it. He stared down at the black snake choking the submerged car.

"What is this?" Valentino asked, his voice shaking with a rare, terrifying tremor.

"It’s what they saw," Becca said, walking over to the wardrobe and extending her hands gently. Clara and Mia crawled out first, followed by Sophie. None of them looked at Valentino; they clung to Becca’s waist, their faces buried in her apron. "Mr. Duca, your wife’s car didn't lose control on the icy turn because of bad weather."

Valentino turned to her, his face pale as marble. "The police investigation—"

"—was closed within two weeks because your family’s influence pushed for a quiet burial," Becca interrupted bluntly. "Look at this drawing! Look at the coils! They didn't invent this imagery out of thin air. They saw someone run that car off the road. They saw someone who they call the Snake."

"Julian was in Manhattan that night," Valentino said, though his voice lacked conviction, sounding hollow, like a man trying to convince himself of a lie he had clung to for two years. "He was at the charity gala. He arrived at the scene after the rescue teams called me."

"Are you sure?" Becca challenged, stepping forward, the girls moving with her like tiny shadows. "Because five minutes ago, Julian Vance leaned into my ear and told me that if I kept digging into old tragedies, I would end up at the bottom of the river, just like Elena. And he knew about my brother, Leo. Information only someone running a private surveillance op on me would have."

Valentino went completely still. It was the stillness of a predator calculating the angle of an attack.

"He threatened you?" Valentino asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"He threatened me, and he terrified your daughters." Becca pulled Clara forward gently. "Clara, baby. Look at Papa. Show Papa what you showed me."

Clara looked up at Valentino. For two years, she had avoided her father's eyes, overwhelmed by the crushing grief that radiated from him. But now, anchored by Becca’s firm, steady hand on her shoulder, the little girl reached out.

She didn't speak. Instead, she took her right thumb and dragged it slowly across her left wrist, mimicking the motion of winding something tight. Then, she raised her fingers to her lips and made a soft, sharp, chilling sound:

*Hssssssss.*

Valentino looked at his daughter's wrist.

Then, his breath left him in a ragged, brutal gasp.

"The watch," Valentino whispered, the color draining entirely from his face until he looked like a corpse. "The Patek Philippe custom order. Elena gave it to him for our company's tenth anniversary. An engraved viper winding around the bezel. He always called it his lucky snake."

The pieces fell into place with the sickening finality of a guillotine blade dropping.

"Elena was auditing the European shipping manifests," Valentino said, his hands curling into fists so tight that the veins stood out like thick cords on his forearms. "She told me two days before the crash that forty million dollars was moving through ghost accounts in Cyprus. She thought it was a bank error. She told Julian she was going to the federal regulators to have them trace it."

"She didn't tell you?" Becca asked.

"She didn't want to worry me until she had the proof. She trusted him." Valentino closed his eyes, a look of profound, agonizing self-hatred contorting his features. "I brought him into my house. I let him sit at my table. I let him hold them."

"He doesn't know you know," Becca warned, stepping toward him, her voice urgent. "Mr. Duca, listen to me. Julian is dangerous. If he realizes the girls are beginning to communicate—if he realizes they are recovering their memory of that night—he won't just run. He’ll try to eliminate the loose ends."

Valentino opened his eyes. The pain was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating, murderous resolve.

"He won't touch a hair on their heads," Valentino said. "And he won't touch you. Tonight, I am moving three teams of external private security onto the perimeter. Tomorrow morning, my forensic accountants will freeze his access to the offshore trusts."

"Don't do it tomorrow," Becca said, an icy premonition clawing at the back of her throat. "Do it tonight. Now."

"The servers require dual-key authentication during trading hours," Valentino said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Twelve hours. That's all I need. Becca... take the girls to the master suite. Lock the reinforced steel doors from the inside. Do not open them for anyone. Not even Mrs. Gable. Only for me."

He looked at her, his gaze intense, fierce, and unexpectedly tender for a split second. He reached out, his rough, calloused thumb gently brushing against Becca’s cheekbone, wiping away a smear of black paint she hadn't realized was there.

"Keep them safe," Valentino whispered. "You are the only person they trust."