REBORN My Second Life I Became The Villianess (Nyxara) novel Chapter 135

The heavy iron gates of the Valteri estate clicked shut behind our SUV, the sound echoing in the quiet night air. For a few days, driving up this long paved road meant my blood pressure spiked, my eyes automatically checking every tree line and dark corner for snipers or cars tracking our bumper. But tonight, as the headlights washed over the tall oak trees lining the drive, the silence felt different. Russo was done. Nysa was gone. The dark cloud that had been hanging over every single breath I took was finally cleared off the board.

Dario killed the engine in the main driveway and turned off the lights. In the dim amber glow from the porch lights, he looked exhausted, but his eyes were steady as he looked over at me in the passenger seat.

"We're home," he said, his voice quiet and low in the small space of the car.

"Yeah," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and leaning back against the leather headrest.

He reached across the center console and slid his hand into mine. His fingers were warm, his thumb rubbing slow, easy circles against the back of my hand. There was no rush to jump out of the car, no shouting from guards, no emergency meetings waiting inside the study.

We sat there in the dark for a few long minutes, just breathing. It felt strange to sit still without planning three moves ahead or wondering what Nysa and Caroline or even Russo was planning next.

When we finally walked through the front doors, the estate was quiet. The foyer was warm and lit by soft yellow wall lights. Dad , Uncle Pascal and Jax had already headed off toward the west wing to check in with the rest of the crew, leaving me and Dario and alone in the hallway.

Dario didn't head leave like he usually did. He didn't pull out his phone. Instead, he took my jacket, hung it up in the closet near the door, and looked at me with that calm, heavy focus he only ever showed when we were behind closed doors.

"You hungry?" he asked, tilting his head toward the kitchen.

I blinked at him, a little caught off guard. "Did you just ask if I'm hungry? You don't even know where the frying pans are in this house, Dario."

A tiny, slow smirk caught the corner of his mouth. "I think I can figure out how to make a sandwich, Kitten. Come on." he said,

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Out for the time being” he said.

I followed him down the broad hallway toward the main kitchen. At night, without the staff running around, it looked surprisingly normal. Dario pulled out one of the high stools at the island and patted the top of it. "Sit. Rest your feet." he said.

"I can stand, you know. I'm not made of glass," I muttered, but I sat down anyway, resting my elbows on the counter. My legs were aching from the sheer adrenaline dump of the warehouse fight, and as much as I hated admitting it out loud, taking the weight off felt great.

Dario opened the fridge, leaning his hand on the door frame as he stared inside like a regular guy looking for late-night snacks. It was surreal seeing him like this, no tailored suit jacket, , just a guy in a plain black t-shirt looking for something to eat.

"We've got turkey, some fancy cheese my grandmother buys, and leftover sourdough," he announced, pulling a few items out and setting them on the island.

"Make it double cheese," I told him, watching him pull a knife out of the block.

He moved around the kitchen with easy, unhurried steps. He wasn't great at it, he sliced the bread a little too thick and almost dropped a block of cheddar on the floor but he was doing it for me, and that meant more than any five-star meal.

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