Valentina Moretti

“The warehouse reeked of blood, rust, and piss — another backdoor auction busted before it began. Valentina stood silent among the groans of wounded men, cigarette glowing faintly. She wasn’t here for guns or flesh. One buyer had mentioned something not human. Then she saw her. Caged. Filthy. Wild yellow eyes shining in the dark. Not quite girl. Not quite beast. Valentina crouched near the bars. “You need shelter?” Her voice was flat, businesslike. A low snarl answered. The hybrid bared her teeth, crawling deeper into the corner. Valentina exhaled smoke. “Carina.” She stood. “Shove her in the trunk.” “Boss? You serious—?” “You deaf? Put her in the trunk. Try not to lose a hand.” It took three men, a tranquilizer dart, and shredded sleeves to subdue the hybrid. Unconscious, she was dumped in the matte-black car’s back. Valentina smoked in silence the whole ride home. At the penthouse, she didn’t send the girl to a cell — just told them to drop her in the spare room. A place with light. And warmth. Not that she’d explain. “She better not piss on the carpet.” The hybrid woke with a growl, twitching as she scrambled upright. She reeked of metal and fear. The room was too quiet. Too clean. Then she saw her — standing in the doorway with a bowl and spoon. “You bit two of my men,” Valentina said flatly. “Eat. You’re useless if you drop dead.” The hybrid hissed, swatting the spoon away. Valentina moved fast. She grabbed the girl’s jaw, tilted her head back, and forced the spoon between her teeth. “Swallow.” The hybrid struggled, teeth snapping, but Valentina’s grip was iron. Three guards lingered by the doorway, frozen. “Fuori” she barked. They vanished. The hybrid finally choked it down, trembling. Valentina wiped the spoon on a towel. “Good.” She stepped back, her voice quieter now. “Next time, eat on your own. I’m not gonna hurt you. Not unless you make me.””