VALENTINA
Val groaned when she strode out of her bedroom the next day and nearly collided with her new bodyguard.
Matteo Costa stood like a freakin' brick wall, just a pace beyond the door's threshold. His back, displayed in a borderline too-tight t-shirt that exhibited every godforsaken muscle, faced her door, and his big arms crossed against his chest. The pose resembled an unyielding bouncer guarding the entrance of a club.
He turned when he heard her door open, and Val smirked as she stepped around his hulking body and into the hallway.
"Notorious hitman turned babysitter," she hummed, examining a hangnail on her thumb. "How are you handling the demotion?"
Matteo didn't answer, but his gaze trickled down the length of her body, down the simple white blouse tucked into her pencil skirt and to her black and white polka-dot pumps. When she'd looked at her reflection in the mirror, Val thought she looked professional. But when his whiskey eyes found hers again, Val had the distinct feeling that he was unimpressed.
Like she was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
Val cleared her throat, tucked a strand of freshly curled hair behind her ear, and forced herself to walk toward the staircase before he caught her staring at his forearms, dusted with a fine coating of dark hair over tattoos and muscles and veins and...
Get a hold of yourself. Val ground her teeth.
Matteo's heavy footsteps followed a short distance back, and Val tossed a quick glance over her shoulder. "You know... When my father said 'Don't let her out of your sight, Matteo,' I don't think he meant it literally. Did you sleep outside my bedroom last night?"
"No," he grumbled, clearly uninterested in this line of questioning.
Val pouted, placing her hand on the exquisitely carved railing as she descended the staircase to the main foyer. Matteo caught up to her and walked on the opposite side of the stairs. She glanced sideways, analyzing him for a moment before trying again. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you're being forced to follow me around. I'm sure you'd rather be off whacking my father's enemies, brooding behind him in important meetings, killing innocent kittens and puppies..."
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but his face remained unreadable. Not even a hint of a smile?
When he didn't respond to her by the time they reached the bottom steps, Val sighed. "At least tell me you don't enjoy torturing kittens and puppies?"
"I'd enjoy torturing you right now," he drawled, bored, his voice like molten honey.
Despite herself, heat fluttered to life in Val's veins. She smiled, more to herself than Matteo, and chirped, "Noted."
Her heels clicked against the marble tile as she strode toward the front door, leaving Matteo to once again trail behind. She pushed open the door, dropping her shoulder against the door to aid her struggle against the solid plank of mahogany. As a young girl, she'd barely been able to keep the door open long enough to pass through.
Suddenly, the door's load on Val's shoulder lessened, and she glanced back to see Matteo's arm extended over her head, handling the heaviness with unfair ease. "Oh... thanks."
He grumbled an unintelligible reply, and Val hurried out the door.
Although it was only a quarter past nine in the morning, summer heat already clogged the air, urging Val to hurry toward the nearest car and the promise of air conditioning. She didn't need the heat and her nerves to join forces, resulting in sweat stains on her best professional blouse. Her father instructed Matteo to take Val to a handful of Romano restaurants, clubs, and casinos in the city that day, and she needed to make a good impression. Sweat stains didn't scream 'capable.'
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?"
Matteo huffed a harsh, unamused laugh. "What's the point of owning a fast car if you're too scared to drive it?"
He started toward the club's entrance. Val secured her purse over her shoulder and rushed after him, heels clacking against the pavement. The bouncer didn't bat an eye at Matteo as they passed, but he watched her with curiosity. Val ignored him, slipping into the club through the door that Matteo held open for her.
"I wouldn't know. I don't own a fast car. I don't even have my driver's license. I always have someone to drive me..." she trailed off, blinking as her eyes adjusted to Lo Specchio's dim lighting.
The scent of cigarette smoke settled over her as soon as the doors closed behind her, and the music of a live jazz ensemble filled the club. Val's lips parted as she beheld her father's prized establishment.
The club wasn't very full, considering the early hour of the morning, but a few stragglers sat around the poker tables that remained open. Some sat at the bar, mourning their losses or celebrating their victories from the previous night. Other men and women lounged across ruby leather couches that stretched across the entire first floor, and, at the back of the room, two identical staircases stretched to a second floor, where Val could vaguely make out the lithe, twisting bodies of women performing their art on tall metal poles.
Heavy red and gold curtains obscured all exterior lighting, giving the illusion of perpetual night. Above, square mirror tiles covered every inch of the ceiling. Lo Specchio — The Mirror.
Val peered up at her reflection, and a small laugh nearly escaped her lips. It was everything she imagined it would be...
"Valentina."
She ceased her admiration at the timbre of Matteo's voice, but the ghost of a smile remained on her lips as she spun to face him.
Something like displeasure clouded his dark eyes, and Val's smile immediately faltered. What had she done to anger him this time?
A muscle beneath the light scruff covering his jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked like he belonged here — in a club dedicated to sin and pleasure and the night. With his dark bedroom hair, thick and messy at the top, and his intimidating muscles, he could've been a god sent to hold dominion over Lo Specchio and its depraved patrons...
"You wanted to meet the managers and check the records. Not gawk at your reflection," he reminded her, and the displeasure in his eyes faded into a mask of indifference once more.
Val rolled her eyes. She hadn't been gawking at her reflection, but her cheeks warmed at the fact that he'd caught her staring at the lounge like a kid in a candy store. She needed to show him — him and every other man in the famiglia — that she took their business seriously.
She brought a tight smile to her lips. "Lead the way, Mr. Costa."
He didn't entertain her with a response and instead started toward the bar at the back of the club, beneath the second-floor landing where the women pole-danced. Val kept her eyes peeled on her surroundings, hyper-aware that several of the gazes of several of the club's patrons followed her as they passed. Were these Romano men? Their associates?
Val quickened her pace to keep up with Matteo's long strides, but she nearly ran face-first into his back when he stopped suddenly. Her hands flew up, pressing into the muscle that padded his spine before she broke her damn nose on his shoulder blade.
"What the hell —" she complained, but paused when she saw what, or who, had stopped Matteo in his tracks. A woman with sleek black hair and angular features approached. "Oh, hey. Is that your girlfriend?"
"No," he half-growled the word, and Val knew that she'd struck a chord.
Okay, maybe not a girlfriend, but the hitman clearly had history with the black-haired beauty.
Val saw her opportunity to step out from Matteo's shadow and jumped on it. She sidestepped around Matteo to get a better look at the woman. She wore an emerald cocktail dress that accentuated an hourglass figure. Damn, she looked like she'd been photoshopped. Not fair, Val silently complained, then glanced up at Matteo.
His eyes never left the black-haired beauty.
"Looks like she really needs to talk to you. Tell me where to find the managers and I'll speak to them myself. You handle... this situation." Val chewed on her bottom lip, feigning concern for the hitman and his impending conversation with the Kim-K lookalike. She'd nearly reached them, now.
"No, Valentina." Matteo frowned, fingers curling into tight fists.
"This is my father's club," she persisted, lifting her chin in a subtle challenge. "Are you saying I'm in danger here?"
Finally, he sighed, running an exasperated hand through the crown of black atop his head. "The manager is sitting at the bar. Maroon suit. His name is Mario. You can go talk to him, but if you leave this room, I'll make you wish you'd never stepped foot in this place."
Val believed him, but she also had no intention of leaving the vicinity. She'd only just gained her father's trust and still needed to prove herself to him. She needed a glowing recommendation from her hitman.
"I'd expect nothing less," she cooed. Seconds before the woman arrived, Val picked a nonexistent piece of lint from Matteo's t-shirt and patted his shoulder twice. "Good luck, cane."
With that, Val turned on her heel toward the bar, ignoring the faint warmth at her fingertips where she'd touched Matteo's shoulder.
She picked out the maroon suit in an instant and inhaled deep before approaching Mario. A half-empty sangria glass rested in front of him at the bar, but he focused his attention on his cell-phone, scrolling through pictures of half-naked models on social media.
Val swallowed her amusement and cleared her throat.
Mario hastily turned his phone screen off and spun in his seat to face her.
"I wasn't—!" he began, but paused when he realized Val was not a disgruntled girlfriend or wife. His wide eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh. Who the hell are you?"
Val struggled to maintain a pleasant smile on her lips. "I'm Valentina Romano. My father sent me to Lo Specchio to look over the books—"
Mario's mouth twisted into a grin of cold amusement. "Sei pieno di merda. Is this some sort of fuckin' joke? Is someone testing me?"
Val blinked away her surprise. "Uhm, no. I am just familiarizing myself with the establishments. Please, it will only —"
Another barked laugh. This time, one man seated nearby Mario chuckled as well, quickly turning the situation into a spectacle.
"There's only one place for a woman in Lo Specchio. Dancing on a pole," he jeered. "Now go get on one, or you can walk your sexy little ass out of my club."
Val's lips parted, humiliation burning her cheeks. Like a coward, she wanted to retreat. She wanted to turn around, tail between her legs, and forget that she'd ever set foot in the club. But how could she ever hope to command respect from the made men of the famiglia if she couldn't handle a simple manager?
She took a deep breath and prepared to threaten him, but the words caught in her throat as the delicious scent of leather and peppermint surrounded her. Val gasped and glanced over her shoulder to face a dark t-shirt, stretched over the impenetrable muscle of a man primed to kill — to dispose of the men who dared threaten his charge. Men like Mario.
Matteo.
"Get on your knees, Mario," he growled, lethal. Val's knees trembled, just as the gravel in Matteo's voice made her burn. "Kneel before I cut your fucking tongue out."