Chapter 8 - The Viper’s Strike
The room around them seemed to drop five degrees in temperature.
Camille felt the muscles in Valentin’s arm turn to solid iron beneath her hand. His face didn't change, but his eyes turned into twin shards of grey ice.
"Watch your mouth, Dante," Valentin said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet and deadly that even the string quartet nearby seemed to quiet down. "You are speaking to my wife."
Dante laughed softly, taking a slow sip of his champagne. "Wife? Come now, brother. We all know why she’s here. Trevor owes us three hundred grand, and you took his woman as payment. Is she as soft as she looks, Valentin? Or did Trevor leave her broken for you?"
Before Camille could even process the insult, Valentin moved.
It was faster than thought. Valentin’s left hand shot out, wrapping around Dante’s throat like a steel vise, pinning the bigger man back against a marble pillar with a heavy, bone-rattling thud. Dante’s champagne glass shattered on the floor, sparkling crystal and yellow liquid spraying over expensive shoes.
The music stopped completely. Guests gasped, stepping back to form a wide circle of horror around them.
"Listen to me very carefully, Dante," Valentin whispered, pressing his thumb into Dante’s windpipe until the cousin’s face turned a blotchy, dark red. "If you ever speak her name again, if you ever look in her direction, or if you even dream about her in your sleep... I will personally tear your tongue out of your head and feed it to the dogs at the docks. Do you understand me?"
Dante clawed uselessly at Valentin’s wrist, his eyes bulging with genuine terror, before manageing a tight nod.
Valentin released him abruptly. Dante fell to his knees on the marble floor, coughing and gasping for air.
Valentin didn't give him another glance. He turned smoothly back to Camille, adjusting his cuffs as if he had merely dusted off his sleeve. His expression softened instantly as he looked down at her face.
"Are you alright, Camille?" he asked gently, offering his arm to her once more.
Camille stared at the man lying on the floor, then up at Valentin. She should have been terrified. She should have been horrified by the sudden, violent display of absolute power.
Instead, for the first time in her life, she felt entirely, undeniably safe.
She slid her hand into the crook of his arm, leaning close to his side. "I am perfectly fine, Valentin. Let's get a drink."
A faint, genuine smile touched Valentin’s lips. "As you wish, my love."
Later that night, as their car drove back toward the estate through the quiet, rain-slicked streets, Camille sat close to Valentin in the back seat. The tension from the gala still lingered in the air, but between them, something fundamental had shifted.
"Dante won't forget tonight," Camille said quietly, looking out the dark window. "He will try to hit back."
"Dante is a snake who only bites when your back is turned," Valentin replied, his thumb lightly tracing the back of her hand where it rested on the leather seat. "He won't move against me directly. He is too weak."
"He might move against me," she pointed out softly, turning her face to look at him.
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Valentin caught her chin in his long fingers, his touch sending a surge of heat straight to her core. He looked deep into her eyes, his grey gaze burning with an intense, unyielding fire.
"Over my dead body, Camille," he said, every word weighted with an absolute promise. "No one harms you. Ever."
