The Hitman's Mark

6. Weak

Val sighed, abandoning her pretense of confidence. Her gaze fell, no longer willing to witness the ridicule written on his features. She shifted to turn away from him, but his thumb and index finger captured her chin before she had the chance.

Matteo turned her face back toward him. Val couldn't breathe, not with his fingers — fingers that had snuffed the life out of countless men — just inches from her neck. And yet... He did not touch her with the strength of a killer. His thumb almost brushed the bottom of her lip, reminding Val of the sensation of satin slipping against bare skin. Her lips parted, but she locked in the strange, rogue sigh that threatened to escape.

"You should have let me kill him," he whispered, hoarse.

Val gave a small shake of her head, but he didn't release his hold. "He didn't deserve to die. He didn't deserve to lose his tongue, either."

Matteo exhaled, and the cool peppermint fanned Val's cheeks. His jaw clenched and unclenched. "It wasn't about what the bastard deserved. It was about sending a message."

Val frowned. "What message?"

"It doesn't matter now," he muttered and pulled his hand away from her chin. She felt the absence of his touch like a blast of cold air. "Because every associate, every capo, will hear about this and know you're soft. Weak."

He turned back toward the bar, leaving Val alone at the booth and feeling like someone had punched her in the gut.

***

Val spent the next hour scanning over the contents of three manilla envelopes filled with Lo Specchio's business data, but she couldn't focus on the documents sprawled before her. Matteo's words replayed, again and again, in her mind.

Every associate, every capo, will hear about this and know you're soft. Weak.

Her father wouldn't have hesitated to punish Mario for his insults. Actually, any Cosa Nostra boss would've readily punished such impudence, yet Val chose mercy. Like a fool. Like a soft, weak fool.

Until now, Val thought that mercy showed a person's strength. But she'd entered a new world where mercy was a sign of weakness. That bothered Val more than she would ever dare to admit aloud.

Despite her jumbled, distracted thoughts, Val discovered a few minor discrepancies in the Lo Specchio records. Although her findings were seemingly insignificant, she asked Mario if she could take a copy of the records home to reevaluate with a clearer mind. Even if he'd wanted to, the manager couldn't refuse.

In fact, Val quickly found that none of the managers of the clubs and restaurants they visited throughout the rest of the day dared to refuse when she asked for their establishment's records. Whether that was because of her status as The Hollowman's daughter or the notorious hitman that followed her around, Val didn't know. She didn't care, so long as she walked out of the building with a bundle of folders in her hand.

The sun had begun its descent by the time Val and Matteo left their last stop, a Michelin star Italian restaurant in SoHo. Val carried a binder of the restaurant's every financial report for the last year, and Matteo held a to-go bag filled with their dinner for the evening.

They had spoken little since the altercation with Mario that morning, so Val was surprised when he opened a conversation while pulling the Alfa Romeo away from the restaurant.

"Do you actually think you'll find anything in those papers?" He nodded toward the various folders and binders on her lap.

Val chewed on her bottom lip before shrugging. "I hope I won't find anything because that would mean trouble for my father. But when was the last time someone with a finance degree really combed through these reports?"

It was Matteo's turn to shrug. He kept his eyes on the road, tattooed hands sliding easily along the black leather wheel. "That's a hell of a lot of work for one woman."

Val smiled, patting the top of the stack of folders twice. "I always liked homework. Besides, I'll need something to keep me busy at the apartment."

"Apartment?" Matteo echoed, a little line forming between his brows.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Val's smile turned sheepish, and her fingers started fidgeting atop the papers in her lap. "I was hoping we could stay in the city? In one of the family's apartments? Just for a week or two, while I'm settling—"

"What?" he chuckled. Val hated how the deep sound made her heart skip. "Is your papà's mansion in Scarsdale not nice enough for the principessa?"

Val rolled her eyes. "Oh, it's nice, alright. Nice and close to my father, who would love nothing more than to hover over me for the next month! I need space if I'm going to prove to him I can handle this."

To her surprise, Matteo didn't outright object to her plan. He absently massaged the stubble surrounding his mouth for a moment before sighing. "Only for a week?"

"Yepp," Val popped the "p" and grinned. "I need to stay in the city — the middle of the action — if I'm going to make an impact big enough to convince Leonardo."

"Sorry, Valentina," Matteo said, flicking the turn signal. The way he said her name made her stomach clench. "But I'm not letting you anywhere near the so-called action. You'd get us both killed."

"I meant the metaphorical action, of course," Val drawled, leaning forward to press the circular "power" button of the Alfa Romeo's sound system. Matteo swatted her hand away before it made contact.

"Touch that dial, and I'm driving you straight back to Scarsdale," he grumbled, reminiscent of an old-man scolding a rambunctious teenager.

Val laughed. "So we can stay in the city?"

Another long sigh. "We can stay in the city."

She leaned back in the leather seat and tried not to gloat, but she couldn't keep her mouth shut for long. "One more thing, Matteo..."

He glanced at her and cocked a dark brow, clearly not in the mood for another negotiation.

"We're sort of like partners now, and partners shouldn't have to be so formal with one another." She cleared her throat. "So, you can call me Val."

Matteo inhaled, his chest rising and falling slowly as he narrowed his eyes, considering her offer. Finally, he pressed his lips into a tight line and turned back to the road, steering the car toward Midtown. "Okay, Val."

Val couldn't contain her smile. "Oh! And while you're at it, no more of that 'principessa' shit."

And then something happened that nothing could've prepared her for.

Matteo laughed — a real laugh — deep and hearty and born in his chest, and Val thought it might've been the sexiest thing she ever heard. He shook his head, a smile still peeled on his lips.

"Not a chance in hell, principessa."