Chapter 30 Shadows at Iron Vault Supply
Valentina’s POV
I stare down at my phone, relief flooding through me as I read the message: I’m safe and will contact you soon. For a moment, all the weight that’s been pressing on my chest lifts. At least one storm is passing. I pocket the phone, a quiet smile curving my lips, and head for the kitchen, drawn by the smell of frying bacon and the comforting sounds of morning.
Inside, the world is peaceful, bright. Slate has Giuliana pinned against the counter, nuzzling her neck as she laughs and tries to flip pancakes at the same time. Blaise leans against the fridge, mug in hand, while Killian watches the show, a rare softness in his eyes.
I walk straight to Killian and, with a sly grin, snatch the cup from his fingers.
Blaise chuckles, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see the day Slate turned into a lovesick fool.”
Killian just pulls me close, reclaiming his coffee with a kiss to my forehead. “Just takes the right woman, Sarge.”
I sink into his side, feeling his warmth. “I need to run out and stock up-ammo, blades, the works,” I say quietly.
He grins, instantly on board. “Whatever you want, angel. I’ll take you to our supply spot. We own the place, get whatever we want, half off.”
Giuliana perks up, calling over
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We eat breakfast together-pancakes, bacon, laughter filling the space like sunlight. Thirty minutes later, we’re climbing into a black SUV, the four of us ready to hunt for gear.
The Iron Vault Supply store looks exactly how a biker’s dream should: hulking brick, “Iron Vault Supply” in bold black letters, a battered sign in the window promising camping gear 50% off. Inside, it’s even better. Racks and racks of camping kits, bows and arrows that gleam under fluorescent lights, shelves of every kind of ammo imaginable, knives in glass cases, boots and fishing rods, wall after wall of heavy-duty adventure.
The place smells of oil and gunmetal and old leather. I practically bounce, grabbing Giuliana’s hand. “This is heaven,” I squeal, dragging her down an aisle, lost in a sea of shiny things that feel more precious than diamonds.
Behind us, the men linger by the entrance, watching with amusement.
“Would you look at that,” Slate says, crossing his arms. “Our girls look like kids at Disneyland. Who knew they’d go wild for this instead of jewelry and fancy dresses?”
Killian just snorts, nodding at Giuliana, who’s already testing the draw weight on a compound bow meant for hunting bears. “Could be just as expensive, though.”
Slate grins. “Knowing her, she’d hunt men with it. Much quieter than a rifle.”
I shoot a look over my shoulder, catching their eyes. “What do you think they’re talking about?” I murmur to Giuliana.
She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Probably saying they’re lucky we’re not gold-diggers who need jewels and
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designer shoes.”
“Speak for yourself,” I laugh. “I like shiny things. Just not the kind you wear.”
She snorts. “You prefer things you can throw.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say, picking up a wicked, double-bladed throwing axe. I test its weight, the balance perfect in my hand. Then I catch sight of a target mounted at the far end of the aisle- temptation too strong to resist. I step back, swing the axe once, twice, and let it fly.
The thunk echoes through the store, heavy and satisfying.
A voice growls from behind the counter. “Hey! No throwing in the store.”
I shrug, innocent. “But there’s a target on the wall.”
He scowls deeper, jaw set. “It’s for decoration, not practice.”
Killian strolls over, wrapping an arm around me. “It’s okay, Caden. She’s with me.”
The old man looks me over, his irritation melting into a grudging smile. “Well then, miss Valentina, do as you like.”
“Thank you, Cade,” I say, rising on my toes to kiss Killian, savoring the feeling of being home, of belonging.
I wander over to a display of handleless throwing knives, the kind I love-perfectly balanced, cold and deadly. I pick out twenty, weighing each one, feeling the promise in their heft. Giuliana joins me, arms piled high with ammo, her smile radiant. We’re in our element, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us,
sisters in mischief.
Then the door swings open. The bell chimes, sharp as a warning.
Three men stride in, all in matching black tracksuits and gleaming white sneakers. They move like they own the place-tall, muscled, dark hair slicked back. One’s got a scar running across his throat, a detail I recognize like a bad dream.
I freeze. Giuliana’s face goes white, the color draining from her in an instant.
“Giuliana, what is it?” I whisper, edging closer.
She stares, voice trembling. “He’s one of them, Valentina. From the warehouse. You stopped him from killing papa.”
I stare at the man. I remember his eyes, his anger-my blade slicing his throat open before he could finish the job. How is he standing here?
Before I can move, he locks eyes with us. His gaze flickers, recognition flashing across his face. He scans us from head to toe, confusion hardening into calculation.
Beside me, Giuliana is shaking. I slide my hand to her arm, every sense on high alert, and wait-ready for whatever comes next.
The man’s voice rings out, thick with that unmistakable Italian accent. “Hey, you,” he says, pointing st raight at Giuliana, though his gaze keeps sliding to me. “I know you from somewhere.” Suspicion ri pples across his face, hungry for memory.
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Giuliana and I both shake our heads, feigning ignorance, but my pulse hammers behind my eyes. Kill ian and Slate materialize at our sides, shoulders squared, bodies tense.
“You get everything you need, babe?” Slate asks, keeping his voice casual for Giuliana’s sake, but his hand doesn’t leave her back.
Killian’s eyes never leave the newcomers. He drapes his arm over my shoulders, the contact grounding me, letting me know he’s right there. “You good, angel?” His voice is low, meant only for me.
I nod, or try to. The sound I manage is barely a whisper. “Yeah.”
But the man is relentless. “No, I know you. Can’t quite place it,” he mutters, eyes narrowing as if searching the dark corners of his mind. He’s still pointing at Giuliana, but I feel the weight of his stare like a chill creeping down my spine.
“Hey,” Slate interjects, voice hardening, “you wanna stop eyeballing our girls?”
The man shrugs, stubborn and unbothered. “Nah. I recognize them. Her, especially.” His finger wavers at Giuliana. “But there’s something about both. It’ll come to me.”
“We’ve never seen you before in our lives,” Giuliana insists, steady but pale, trying to hide the quiver in
her voice.
He grins, shameless. “Sure you have. Did we date?” His mockery cuts like glass, but I see the edge of calculation behind his smile.
Giuliana winces, her whole body shivering. Slate reacts instantly, turning to cup her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers, protective and gentle. “What is it, baby?” he murmurs, but Giuliana just shakes her head, mute.
Killian’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Let’s go. Time to get back to the club.” He jerks his chin at Cade behind the counter. “Bag it up. Now.”
The tension is thick as the three men watch us. Two of them break off, pretending to browse but keeping us in their periphery. The talkative one just stands, burning holes through us with his stare. Slate keeps one eye on them, shoulders tense, tracking their movements as Killian settles the bill.
As we pass, the man leans in, his words a snake’s promise: “Non preoccuparti, bella, mi ricorderò.” (Don’t worry, beautiful. I’ll remember.)
My jaw tightens. I look him dead in the eye. “Nei tuoi sogni, stronzo.” (In your dreams, asshole.)
We hustle out, adrenaline jangling in my veins, and pile into the SUV. Slate drives, knuckles white on the wheel. Killian twists to face us in the backseat, eyes sharp and demanding.
“What the fuck just happened?” he growls.
Giuliana’s voice is small, shaking. “He’s one of the men who kidnapped us. The one you saved papa from, Valentina-the one you cut.” Her eyes are distant, haunted. “I don’t know how he survived.”
I replay it-flashes of a warehouse, the glint of a blade, the taste of terror. “You were ten,” Giuliana continues quietly, almost comforting herself. “Maybe you didn’t cut deep enough. Maybe he just passed out and bled but didn’t die.”
She stares out the window, arms wrapped around herself. I lean close, pulling out my phone. “We need to tell papa,” I say, my fingers already flying over the screen. I text him: One of the men who kidnapped
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us found us today. He didn’t recognize us, but he suspects. What do we do?
We drive in tense silence, waiting for his reply. By the time we reach the club, there’s still nothing-no word, no sign. Anxiety needles my skin.
Inside, Killian heads straight to Blaise’s office to explain what happened. I stay glued to my phone, waiting for any sign from our father. Minutes crawl past. Still no answer. My mind spins-how could that man have survived? How much does he remember?
Twelve years is a lifetime. I was ten, Giuliana twenty-children compared to now. Giuliana’s arms are inked, her hair dark and wild, nothing like the pale blonde from back then. And me-I’ve changed the most. Grown taller, harder. I pray the past is blurred, that faces fade in his mind as they have in mine.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that ghosts never truly stay dead-and that someday, memory will come for us both.
