VALENTINA
Four years later
Valentina Romano rapped her manicured nails on her glittery phone case, eyes glued on the handsome new bodyguard at the wheel of her father's car. He had buzzed dark hair and devastating brown eyes—or, at least, Val imagined he had nice eyes beneath the shades resting on his prominent nose. She pouted. At seven o'clock in the evening, it wasn't even bright enough outside to warrant sunglasses.
Val sighed, tearing her gaze from her mysterious driver. Although her father hadn't cared enough to pick her up from the JFK baggage claim himself, he'd at least sent a handsome face for her to look at.
Mr. Handsome Face never introduced himself before piling Val's luggage into the back of the armored car, but she'd caught his head tilting toward the rear-view mirror enough times during their drive to stroke her ego. After spending the last four years surrounded by the posh sons and daughters of Great Britain's wealthiest, she worried that she'd have little luck in pursuit of her father's chiseled, brainwashed soldiers. It reassured Val to know that men on both sides of the Atlantic were susceptible to brown curls and fresh lip gloss.
Handsome Face turned the car into a familiar driveway, rolling it to a stop in front of a brick call-box. Val leaned forward in the back seat as he extended one muscled arm out of the window and pressed a button. "It's Luca. We're here."
Luca, Val mused. A nice name. Predictably Italian. She could guess that each of the four crime families that ruled New York contained a handful of Luca's. Still, she cemented the name to memory.
She didn't know how long her father would allow her to stay in New York before shipping her off again, but she hoped he'd let her stick around long enough to wrap this new bodyguard around her pinky finger. Not because she was interested in Luca romantically. No — Val simply knew that the easiest way to elude an overeager guard was to keep him on a tight leash. She'd successfully employed such tactics when she was a teenager. She guessed it would be even easier now that she'd nearly turned twenty-two and grown a round ass.
"Va bene. Entra," a deep, static-lined voice replied from the call box. Moments later, the wrought-iron gates creaked open. Val felt her heart lurch into her throat at the familiar sound.
"Four years later and they still haven't greased-up those loud-ass gates?" she mumbled, more to herself than Luca. He didn't answer, anyway.
Val studied her phone screen, scrolling through messages and emails and anything that could distract her from the rows of oaks that lined the mile-long driveway of her youth. Distract her from the memories of biking up and down the pavement on her tricycle, her mother trailing several paces behind. The memories of chasing after her father's prized Cane Corso, Piso, between the trees.
Piso died when Val turned twenty. Her father hadn't allowed her to return home to say goodbye to the old, slobbery monster. In fact, he hadn't allowed her to return home once in the four years since she started college at the University of Oxford — in the four years since an assassin missed his target and shot Sofia Iva Romano in the back of the head...
The hairs on the back of Val's neck prickled as flashes of that day threatened to resurface. She swallowed the thick lump that nearly suffocated her every time she dared to remember her eighteenth birthday party.
At Oxford, she became quite adept at forgetting — at warding away the nightmares and fear and blood-filled memories that would cripple her if given too much power. But here, returning to her childhood home, Val struggled more than she cared to admit.
For several years, she didn't know if her father would ever let her return to their family's home in Scarsdale, New York. After her mother's death, Val's father refused to allow her to attend New York University in the fall. He called in favors with a few high-standing officials in the United Kingdom, and Val received her letter of acceptance from Oxford. She hadn't even applied to the notorious university, and, two weeks later, she found herself shipped overseas with two suitcases to begin summer classes.
He'd scarcely allowed Val time to grieve the loss of her mother with her family before sending her away. He claimed he did it for her protection, and maybe that was true, but, as time passed, Val felt like she'd been exiled.
Despite her hasty beginnings at the university, Val graduated one week ago with an economics and management degree. She didn't know how long she'd have in New York before her father hauled her across the globe again for her graduate studies, but she needed to make every second count. Because she had no intention of returning to school in the fall.
She'd spent the last four years studying mathematics and accounting, learning management strategies from the world's leading experts in the field. She'd spent every waking moment training, praying that she could be of some use to her father and the Romano family. Every hour of studying, every cup of coffee at three o'clock in the morning, every aced test... It meant nothing if he wouldn't let her stay in New York.
Val's stomach twisted. She'd rehearsed her pitch at least a hundred times on the plane. But now that the conversation loomed, she feared it wouldn't be enough. Her father wanted to protect her from the Romano family, but she wanted to take her place in it.
Worry gnawed at Val's every thought, so she sought to distract herself with the handsome bodyguard at the wheel.
"Soo, Luca," Val tried his name and decided she liked the way it felt on her tongue. He tilted his shaded eyes toward her in the rear-view mirror. "You have any idea how long my dad plans on letting me stay here? I'm just wondering if I should even bother unpacking my bags, that's all."
"If you think the Don tells me any of that shit, you're..." Luca stopped himself.
Val cocked a brow at his reflection, silently imploring him to continue. He pressed his lips into a thin line. His self-control impressed her. She didn't know many Italians that could stop themselves once they'd started talking.
She smiled, a single corner of her lips curling as she studied Luca. "Don't worry, you can say what you want. I won't run back to my daddy and tell him you hurt my feelings."
Growing up in the Romano crime family, Val had thick skin. She doubted Luca could conjure any insult worse than what she'd heard before.
Luca must not have believed her, for his lips remained pressed in a tight line.
Val frowned. Her father's henchmen were far more entertaining when they took her bait. She leaned her shoulders back against the leather seat and crossed her arms against her chest.
"Of course, you've probably heard all sorts of nasty things about me," she drawled, picking at a stray hangnail on her thumb. "I was a bit of a nuisance for the bodyguards back in the day, but I like to think that I've changed. I—"
She trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at the end of the driveway, where the mansion waited for her. The sprawling brick palace could've intimidated even the snobbiest architect, with its grand path that led from the circular driveway, across the pristinely mowed lawn, and to the double-door entrance at the front of the house. Val didn't feel intimidated, though.
She felt empty. Empty as she stared at the beautiful facade, where no one waited to welcome her home.
Four years. She'd been gone for four years, and no one opened the door or ran to the car with open arms. Val ignored the hollowness in her chest that might've swallowed her from the inside out. She couldn't let it. Couldn't expose herself to the risks associated with emotion. In this life — this world — emotions would only get her killed.
Luca slid out of the driver's seat and immediately opened Val's door for her, more like a butler than a bodyguard. She took a deep breath, crafted a mask of cool indifference, and slipped one leg after the other out of the car.
"Thank you," she murmured to Luca as soon as both of her heels clicked on the cobblestone. She combed a hand through her chestnut brown curls, utterly deflated after spending hours in an airplane.
"I'll grab your bags and meet you inside, Signorina Valentina."
"Val," she breathed her name, eyes never straying from the vacant steps and porch in front of her. "Call me Val. I hate when people use Valentina."
If Luca reacted to her request, Val didn't know. She couldn't look away from the mansion's double doors, half-expecting her father to burst through the doors and scurry down the steps, arms wide open to welcome his daughter home. That was wishful thinking. In the years that she'd been at college, her father only visited her twice a year, once on Labor Day and once on Christmas. Of course, he wouldn't take time out of his schedule for her homecoming. He was Leonardo "The Hollowman" Romano, after all.
And Val was his daughter.
With another deep breath, she hardened her resolve, smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt, and strode up the steps of her childhood home, heels clicking the entire way.
Val's stride didn't falter until she reached the heavy doors. Just as she placed her hand on the bronze knob, the cold metal slipped from beneath her fingers as someone opened the door from within.
With wide eyes and parted lips, Val stared at the newcomer. The man looking back at her was not her father, but at least someone from her family came to greet her.
"Zio!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her Uncle Adriano's broad shoulders.
His body, hardened by the grueling nature of his job in the Romano family, absorbed her weight, and he easily carried her over the mansion's threshold and placed her on the white marble tile of the foyer. She inhaled his familiar scent of cigars and aftershave.
"I'm so happy you're home, Val," he murmured, the words muffled by her hair. "It's been fuckin' boring without you, kid."
Val smiled and rolled her eyes. "I don't think you know the definition of the word boring." At thirty-five, Adriano was the closest thing that Val had to a brother. He'd helped her wreak no small amount of havoc around the mansion during her youth.
"I'm serious," Adriano complained, setting her back on her feet. "It's been too quiet around here for the last few years."
"Did you forget my father named you sottocapo?" Val drawled the word, cocking a brow at her uncle. He ascended to the role of sottocapo three years ago, when his predecessor and second-eldest brother passed away. A sad day for the family, but a momentous occasion for Adriano. "Can't you make your own fun now?"
Adriano huffed a short laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'll be honest, the title 'Underboss' comes with a helluva lot of paperwork. I don't think I'm cut out for it."
"Poor Adriano," Val teased, puckering her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "It must be so hard being one of the most powerful men in the Cosa Nostra."
Adriano rolled his eyes. "Brat."
Val laughed and plucked a non-existent piece of lint off the shoulder of his black button-up. "Don't worry, Zio. Now that I'm back, I'll make sure you don't have a boring day for the rest of your life."
"You promise?" he quipped, and the easiness of their conversation nearly lulled Val into a false sense of security. Nearly.
She still needed to find her father and convince him she deserved to stay in New York. Her smile faded. "Adriano, where is my father?"
The light in his brown eyes dimmed, replaced by a newfound seriousness. "He actually sent me to fetch you—"
"He's here?" Val interrupted. The news felt like a punch to the gut.
When she arrived at the mansion and saw no one waiting on the doorstep, Val assumed her father had business in the city. She didn't realize he would simply choose not to welcome her home.
"He's in a meeting," Adriano explained, as if that made the news any easier to bear.
She should have guessed that he'd choose business over his daughter. He didn't become the Hollowman by fostering his relationships and feeding his emotions. He suppressed those things until the world regarded him as hollow — emotionless and inhuman. Before her mother died, Val never saw that side of him, but now...
She swallowed the sentiment and gave her uncle a tight smile. "Should I wait until he's finished with business? Maybe he can pencil me in later this week."
"Val," he reprimanded, unamused. "He wants to see you now. In the meeting."
She blinked, momentarily taken aback. Her father had never requested her presence in a meeting before. "Who is he meeting with?"
"Me, the capos, and you."
Val frowned. Her father wanted her to join a meeting with the most prominent members of the famiglia? Her stomach twisted.
"Don't be nervous," Adriano coached, placing a peremptory hand on Val's back to lead her through the foyer.
"I'm not nervous," she answered too quickly and released a long breath. "Good. This is good. I have to talk to my father about something, anyway. There's no reason the capos can't also hear it."
Adriano glanced sideways at her, narrowing his eyes. "What do you need to talk to him about?"
Val rolled her shoulders back and kept her chin high. Her heels clicked on marble with every step they took toward her father's study. "Don't sound so worried," she chided him, even as she gripped her skirt to refrain her fingers from trembling at her sides.
Adriano grumbled beside her but remained silent for the rest of their walk to the meeting. When they arrived at the wooden double doors of her father's study, he glanced down at Val once and mouthed, "Good luck, kid." Then he pushed open the door.
The conversation in the office ceased immediately, and every eye in the room turned toward the doorway, where Val now stood. Almost as soon as she entered, a wave of cigar smoke invaded her nostrils, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting.
Half a dozen men sat around a long mahogany table. Val recognized a few, such as a middle-aged capo who'd been missing a hand for as long as she'd been alive, but others were new, likely appointed after the untimely death of their predecessor. The Cosa Nostra experienced an... unfortunate amount of turnover. Val's gaze quickly skipped over the capos seated around the table, far more interested in the man occupying the throne at the table's head.
"Father," she breathed, unable to stop the smile that spread on her lips at the sight of him. He looked healthy, like he'd lost a bit of weight since the last time he visited London, and he'd covered his gray hair with a darker shade of brown than usual.
To Val's pleasure, he smiled. A real smile, like he was truly happy to see her. "La mia bella Valentina. I am so happy you are home," he murmured, the words tinged with an accent.
Val curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirt again, this time to prevent herself from running across the study and throwing her arms around her father's neck. She hadn't realized just how much she missed him until she saw him seated just a few meters away, out of reach. She couldn't run into his arms like a child. Not when she needed him to view her as a woman, capable of handling herself in his dark world.
She forced herself to move on to business. "Where should I sit?" she inquired, clasping her hands behind her back and surveying the occupied seats around the table.
A smirk curled on her father, Don Leonardo's, lips. He regarded Val for a moment, with eyes that bordered on impressed, before turning his attention to the capo seated on his right. "Stand up."
The capo, who Val recognized as a distant cousin, shot to his feet, mindlessly obedient. But her father looked unpleased. He turned his gaze to the rest of the table, eyes as dark as night, and purred another order. "Everyone stand up."
Val's eyes widened as every man around the table stood, some slower than others. Several of them looked as confused as she felt. She shifted on her feet, and her father offered a feline grin before continuing: "Stand up and pay your respects to my daughter. Heir of the Romano Famiglia."