The Hitman's Mark

10. A Dead Man's Secrets

VALENTINA

With eyes clamped shut, Val prayed for a swift death. She expected a flash of pain before blessed relief, and yet...

There was no pain–at least, nothing besides the pounding ache in her temple. She was alive, but she didn't quite know how. She'd heard a gunshot, after all.

"Fuck!" Mario shouted, and Val wrenched her eyes open in time to see the crooked club manager spin toward the door, where light from the hallway now bled into the shadows, eclipsed by a single figure.

Val recognized Matteo's tall, broad frame immediately and nearly wept in sheer relief. She never imagined she'd be so happy to see him. She took Mario's distraction as a chance to finally retrieve her cellphone and scurry for cover behind another wooden crate.

Peering around the corner, Val saw Mario point his handgun toward the door and the man who occupied its entrance, but his movements were too slow. Matteo already held his gun level, pointed at Mario's head. The manager didn't have time to dodge before another ear splitting CRACK filled the warehouse, and warm wet droplets splattered on the cement floor.

Val gasped, clamping her palm against her lips to smother a yelp as Mario's body collapsed to the ground, limp. Dead. Shot in the forehead like he'd been killed executioner-style.

For a moment, she had half-a-mind to be frightened of any man capable of such lethal accuracy, but Matteo's heavy footsteps thudded above the blood pounding between her ears. Val ripped her eyes away from Mario's dead body just as Matteo rounded the corner to find her.

"Damn it, Valentina!" he exclaimed, stepping over a lifeless Mario and dropping to his knees by her side. His dark brown eyes scoured her for injuries, snagging on the bloody cut on her forehead.

"You're hurt," Matteo half-growled, one of his hands rising to gingerly brush Val's aching temple. A soft hiss escaped her lips at the gentle touch. "He hurt you."

Val tried to crack a smile, but it felt more like a grimace on her lips. "Actually, I did this to myself," she admitted. Technically, she'd slipped while running from Mario, but she didn't feel the need to relive the experience by recounting the story. "We can't all be badass hitmen."

Matteo didn't smile at her teasing. In fact, his mouth didn't so much as twitch as he stared at her wound. With every passing second, the frenzy faded from his brown gaze, and the tension loosed from his shoulders.

"It's deep, Val," he muttered, gruff, before shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders and bunching it up in his fist. With the jacket padding his hand, he lifted the fabric to her forehead to soak up some of the blood.

Val winced against the pressure but somehow managed to stay still as he cleaned off her forehead and hairline. "You don't have to do that," she murmured, reaching up to take the bundle jacket from him.

He frowned but didn't stop. He didn't so much as look down at Val to acknowledge her, diligently tending to her injury.

Val sighed and tried again, attempting to grapple the jacket out of his hands. "Seriously. I can do it myself. You don't have to–"

"You don't get to speak to me," Matteo ground out. He pulled his jacket away from her temple, long enough to level a cold, stern glare at her. "Not after what you just pulled."

Val flinched, and, this time, it had nothing to do with her forehead. She felt warmth begin to flood her cheeks and, despite herself, ducked her head in shame. "Can I at least say thank you? For saving me?"

"You can say it. Doesn't mean anything."

His words felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped on her head. Val kept her eyes down until she felt Matteo stand from her side and walk toward Mario's body. She watched as he nudged the dead man's shoulder with the toe of his dress shoes. Mario's eyes were still open, and blood trickled from the corner of his open mouth.