The Hitman's Mark

5. Business

Val reached a wide black SUV and tugged on the door handle, but it didn't budge. Ahead on the driveway, a different car beeped and purred to life. She looked back at Matteo, who wielded a remote-control key in one hand and pointed it at the vehicle, an obscenely fancy sports sedan with the 'Alfa Romeo' emblem on the rear.

"I'm not a fuckin' chauffeur, principessa." Matteo didn't spare her a second glance as he strode toward the car. "If I'm gonna be forced to carry you around for a month, I'm gonna drive my own goddamn car."

Fair enough.

Val chased after him, taking three steps to match his single stride. She blew out a low whistle. "Wow, she's pretty. I bet you don't see many of these babies driving around New York."

Matteo glanced down at her like he might protest her use of the pronoun 'she' to describe his prized vehicle, but ultimately shook his head. "No, you don't."

He opened the driver's door and slid into the black 'Alfa Romeo' with surprising ease despite his size. Val rounded to the passenger door and took a seat on the pristine leather. Mio Dio, it smelled good in that car.

Val settled into the luxury speed machine with wide eyes, admiring the sleek interior, when her gaze landed on Matteo. He looked at her from across the center console like he would've preferred to strap her into a booster seat in the back row.

She cocked a brow. "What? You're the one that said you aren't a chauffeur. I'm not sitting in the back by myself."

"Fine," he agreed, turning his attention to the wheel. His right hand came to rest on the shifter, pulling the stick from 'park' to 'drive.' A collection of tattoos graced the tan skin on the back of his palm and knuckles, obscuring the slightly discolored flesh of scars, old and new. Val could only imagine what had caused those marks...

Matteo snatched his hand back to the wheel, and Val looked up to find those deep brown eyes watching her. Her heartbeat sped up as the engine revved, and they took off down the driveway.

Val hastily turned her attention elsewhere. She fished through her purse for her cell-phone. "Can I connect my phone to your bluetooth?"

"No."

Val paused, lips parting in disbelief, just as her fingers pulled her phone from her bag. She frowned and crossed her arms against her chest before looking out of the window. "I miss Luca."

They arrived at Lo Specchio, the Romano famiglia's most profitable restaurant, casino, and nightclub, thirty painful minutes later.

For every question Val asked, Matteo replied with a one-word answer. Do you have any family? No. Do you live at the Scarsdale estate? No. Do you want me to stop talking? Yes.

Val obliged, albeit begrudgingly. With no music playing over the car's speakers, the deep thrum of the Alfa Romeo's engine filled the car, interrupted by the occasional horn of an angry driver when Matteo passed them like a madman. By the time they reached Lo Specchio, she never wanted the hitman to drive her around the city again.

As soon as Matteo brought the sports cart to a halt outside of the 24-hour club's entrance, Val forced open the passenger door and scrambled to put her feet on solid ground again. Matteo joined her a few moments later, tossing the keys to his still-running sedan to the nearest valet.

"Do you have a problem?" he grumbled, eyes narrowing. Val knew that all the blood had drained from her cheeks.

"Noo, not at all," she claimed, smoothing a wrinkle from her mid-thigh length skirt before shooting him a too-sweet smile. "I guess I just thought all men liked to take care of their cars. Y'know, you spend so much money on her, you might as well treat her nicely?"