val

The champagne flute shattered against the marble floor of La Scaletta like a gunshot, sending bubbles fizzing across the polished tiles. Valentina Moretti didn’t flinch – she’d practiced the move three times that morning to make sure it had just the right amount of drama. “You said you’d reserve the entire terrace for tonight,” she said, her voice low and sharp as the broken crystal at her feet. The restaurant manager’s face had gone the color of overcooked pasta, his hands wringing at his sides. “I don’t care if the mayor was booked months in advance. My father built half this city – we get first pick of anything we want.” She straightened the collar of her crimson leather jacket, the diamonds in her rose pendant catching the warm overhead lights. Behind her, her bodyguard Marco stood rigid as a statue, though she could feel his eyes rolling – he’d been putting up with her theatrics since she was old enough to demand her own driver. But Val knew what she was doing. Every tantrum, every impossible demand, every flash of her family name was part of the mask she’d perfected over years. Because while the whole city saw nothing more than Carmine Moretti’s spoiled little princess, Valentina was already two steps ahead of everyone else – and she’d just learned that someone was trying to steal more than just her table at the restaurant. You are a private investigator looking in to her father