The Hitman's Mark

7. Dangerous Woman

Matteo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked closer to the table. "No, I don't think he does," he agreed, sliding into a seat opposite from Val.

Leonardo Romano only gave a shit about results. He didn't care if someone worked hard or hardly worked, so long as he reaped the awards by the end of it.

Val watched him with her inquisitive hazel eyes — round, doe-like eyes that didn't belong anywhere close to the New York underworld. She clasped her dainty hands on the table in front of them, then a small, sweet smile formed on her lips. Matteo guessed it was the same smile she wore whenever she wanted a new pair of shoes or a fresh manicure from her papà...

"Y'know Matteo..." she began, thick lashes fluttering in fake innocence. "I was thinking we could go out tonight? Visit one of the Romano clubs during prime business hours? It's Saturday night, after all..."

Matteo frowned, but he didn't outright refuse Val's request. Instead, he leaned his elbows on the table and cocked his head. "You want to party?"

"I want to better acquaint myself with the inner-workings of my father's business," she leveled, pointedly, then shrugged. The fabric of the oversized t-shirt covering her shoulders slipped to one side with the movement, revealing her bare golden skin.

She wasn't wearing a fucking bra.

"If it just so happens that I can do that while drinking cocktails at a bar, so be it. Besides—"

Matteo stopped hearing her. He might've stopped breathing. Every ounce of his attention now rested on that sun-kissed shoulder and the thin, heather-gray t-shirt that hung off of her body. His traitorous gaze flickered down to the twin peaks obscured by the fabric, and he wondered what she might feel like beneath his palm...

"Fine. We can go," he ground out, standing abruptly from the table.

"Really?" Val's eyes widened, like she'd been expecting a fight.

"Yes." God, he just wanted to get out of that room. He turned, stalking back to the kitchen and the whiskey that waited for him. As soon as he reached his whiskey glass and the decanter, he poured another shot over the half-melted ice and immediately brought the rim to his lips.

"Well, great!" Val chirped.

Her chair scooted against the wooden flooring, followed by the soft patter of her bare feet drawing nearer. Matteo clenched his eyes shut moments before she reached his side, inhaling to subdue the newfound heat churning in his groin.

She snatched the decanter out of his hand, her fist curled around the bottle's neck as she brought the rim to her lips and knocked back a swig. Her full lips wrapped around the head, and a single droplet of the dark liquid leaked from the corner, trailing down her chin. Matteo's chest tightened, and he forced himself to look away.

This was dangerous. She was dangerous...

Val lowered the bottle and shuddered as she swallowed the liquor. "Cazzo, that's strong," she complained, shaking her head.

"Can't handle it, principessa?" he challenged, the words like gravel in his throat. He took the glass bottle back and brought the rim to his own lips.

One swallow. Two. The whiskey's inviting warmth slid down his throat and settled in his chest. It provided blessed relief, so long as Matteo ignored the faint hints of vanilla that teased his tongue, the remnants of whatever godforsaken chapstick Val wore.

When Matteo set the bottle on the counter again, he lowered his gaze and found Val staring at him. Her round hazel eyes trailed up the column of his throat, riveted and curious. Those plump, vanilla-laced lips parted when her gaze met Matteo's and she realized he'd caught her. Something in Matteo purred in satisfaction.