VALENTINA
Val's evening had gone to hell, but she figured it couldn't get much worse. She was wrong. So, so wrong.
Like an idiot, she'd asked Matteo to accompany her to Lo Specchio that evening. Originally, she planned on sneaking out of the apartment without the hitman's knowledge, but once they spoke in the kitchen, guilt and worry began churning in the pit of her stomach. She knew that if she snuck to Lo Specchio without Matteo's knowledge, he would never trust her again... Strangely enough, she didn't want to risk that.
So she'd invited him to go to Lo Specchio with her and prayed that the booze and music and women would be enough to distract him. Of course, Val's father assigned her the one bodyguard in the entire Cosa Nostra that couldn't be swayed by women and alcohol.
Matteo didn't drink a single droplet of liquor from the moment they walked into the club. He didn't ask for a line of the white powder that the mafiosos passed around like the offertory at Mass. And, like a damned saint, he didn't even blink twice at the nearly nude models and dancers that strutted around.
Val only needed a single moment of Matteo's lapsed concentration to slip into the shadows of Lo Specchio. But his dark, penetrating eyes never strayed from the back of her head, ruining her plans.
When Matteo asked if she'd found anything in the files and records, Val lied and said no.
But really, she'd spent the last five days scouring every account and transaction linked to Lo Specchio, following a trail of missing cash. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of missing cash.
At first, Val thought that the account discrepancies in Lo Specchio's files could've been a mistake. Her father preferred to pay almost every business expense in cash, after all, which sometimes led to missing amounts.
After digging deeper, however, she discovered several years' worth of over-payments between her father's most notorious club and a beverage company that supplied the venue's liquor. The money leaving her father's accounts didn't coincide with the beverage invoices and inventory, so Val deduced that someone at Lo Specchio was stealing the extra cash and spending it elsewhere. Her father had lost two hundred thousand over the last three years.
Unfortunately, the paper trail only provided so much evidence, and Val didn't want to go to her father with the claim until she was absolutely certain of the offenses. So, she planned on visiting the club on a Saturday — the same night that the beverage company made their deliveries every two weeks.
Val planned on conveniently stumbling into the back offices of Lo Specchio at eleven o'clock sharp — the same time as the transactions — to collect proof of the perpetrator. Then, when she possessed concrete evidence of the theft, she'd approach her father with her findings. Foolproof.
Or, it would have been foolproof. Matteo's unwavering devotion to his guard-dog duties complicated matters.
He'd guessed her intentions to distract him easily enough, so Val conceded. She wouldn't have wanted to attend that seedy club on her own accord, so, without the prospect of uncovering her father's thief, there was no reason to stay.
And yet... Matteo touched her, and Val's traitorous body filled her mind with the idea that the night didn't need to be a complete waste.
His touch was firm, but not painful. Commanding, but not forceful. And his voice... It awakened something in Val that she hadn't experienced before. Desire.
Throughout her time at Oxford, Val flirted with plenty of young men. She enjoyed the game, but never allowed herself to reap the rewards. She feared her father might discover her impurity and never allow her to return from London. For that reason, the relationships never progressed past flirting. She wouldn't allow it.
With Matteo, it felt like she had no choice in the matter. His touch elicited a wave of liquid heat, so potent that Val couldn't comprehend anything beyond the insatiable urge to clamp her thighs together and ask for more. It promised even more pleasure than the few occasions when she slipped her own fingers between her legs at night.
Desire. True, unbridled desire for a man capable of showing her everything that she'd been missing for the past several years. And it made Val desperate.
She'd been so certain that Matteo felt the same hunger until she leaned in to connect their lips. Then he pulled away.
Val felt like an absolute fool. A fool who'd been punched in the gut.
Matteo left her in a state of utter humiliation. Almost instantaneously, the heat dissipated from between her legs and rushed right up her neck. She looked at her feet, silently willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She wanted the roof of the club to collapse in on itself. Anything that would spare her from facing the hitman again.
Then, as Val's thoughts spiraled from humiliation to despair, a pair of men's Gucci crocodile-skin loafers walked into her line of vision, and Val's night from hell got so, so much worse.
"I was wondering when I would finally get to meet you, Valentina," a suave, masculine voice purred. "Although, I must confess, I didn't think it would be at a nightclub."
Val's eyes snapped to the newcomer.
Still stunned by Matteo's rejection, it took her several moments to realize who now stood in front of her. Blonde hair gelled away from the forehead. A too-white smile that looked like it belonged in a dental magazine. And an absurdly expensive magenta suit that resembled Willy Wonka. Not to mention, a pretty face that had been featured in every business magazine published in the last four years. Ezra McLeod. Her would-be fiancé.
"I'm sorry —" Val smiled, feigning ignorance. "Do I know you?"
Ezra's lips curled, but none of the skin surrounding his mouth wrinkled.
Oh God, Val internally panicked. Did her father really try to set her up with a man who had Botox?!
"You don't recognize me?" he challenged, clearly not buying her act.
Val didn't give it up. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, then widened her eyes and gasped. "Oh! Did you play one of the von Trapp family singers in the Sound of Music reboot?"
With his light complexion, square jaw, and prominent cheekbones, the idea wasn't so far-fetched. Still, Ezra's easy-going smile faded.
"Your father didn't tell me about your sense of humor," he mused.
Val guessed he found her as funny as she found him handsome. She shrugged and offered a saccharine smile. "Did he also forget to mention that I've already done the whole 'prep-school boy with daddy's money' in London? I'm over it."
Ezra laughed, and the sound sent a trill of unease down her spine. "I think you'll find there's more to me than my 'daddy's money,' Valentina. Enjoy your evening."
With an icy, amused smile, the blonde pharmaceutical-god closed the distance between them and pressed a feather-light kiss to Val's cheek. She nearly shuddered, but somehow maintained a pleasant, tight smile when he stepped back. Her fake smile remained until Ezra and his crocodile-skin loafers turned back toward a group of dancing women, and then the nausea set in.
The delicious scent of peppermint filled Val's senses, and she glanced back in time to see Matteo come to a halt behind her. His deep, honeyed voice grounded her when he spoke. "Was that —"
"My beloved fiancé?" she choked, her throat tight. "Yes, it was."
"What did he want?" Matteo growled, stepping forward like he wanted to confront the blonde bastard.
Val clamped a hand on Matteo's wrist to keep him by her side. She needed to avoid a true confrontation with Ezra, at least until her father agreed to free her from the engagement. She shrugged, nonchalant. "To tell me he doesn't like my sense of humor. Dick."
Matteo's lips pressed into a thin line, a crease forming between his dark brows as he glared down at her. He obviously didn't believe her, but released a long sigh that had the tension melting from his broad shoulders.
"I need to call your father. Let him know McLeod is here and spoke to you," he muttered, tugging his cell-phone out of his pants pocket with one hand while the other haphazardly handed Val the jacket he'd gone to receive. "Let's go. We're leaving."
She clutched her jacket to her chest and nodded, but he'd already turned to leave. She trailed behind him as they exited the second-floor VIP section. Matteo didn't look back once or offer a hand to help her down the staircase in her heels. All of his attention seemed to be on his phone, preoccupied with typing a message to her father or dialing his phone number.
When they reached the bottom step, Val frowned. For the first time that evening, Matteo wasn't watching her with the eyes of a hawk.
Her eyes widened, and she tore her cellphone out of her sparkling handbag. She furiously tapped the screen until it illuminated, and Val's heart thundered to a halt.
The screen read 10:55 P.M.
Five minutes until the deal and beverage drop-off.
When Val glanced back at Matteo, he still looked down at his phone. Head bowed, shoulders hunched. Focused. She guessed he wouldn't notice her absence for at least another ten seconds...
Ten seconds would give her enough time to dash into the crowds of dancers and patrons and become invisible to him, but a sliver of guilt crept into the back of her mind. Would he forgive her for this? Did she even care about what Matteo thought of her after their humiliating encounter?
Nine seconds.
Eight.
Seven.
Val stopped thinking. If she wanted to do this, it needed to happen now.
She shoved her cell-phone back into the purse and ripped her ponytail out, allowing the dark locks to cascade down her back. At the same moment, she ducked her head and hurried into the nearest group of dancers, shimmying her jacket over her shoulders to obscure the recognizable burgundy of her cocktail dress.
Four.
Three.
Val navigated the dancefloor with relative ease, despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Every time a drunken patron bumped against her, Val's heart lurched into her throat, expecting to find Matteo waiting to drag her away. And yet, she reached the first-floor bar without incident.
She edged closer to the office doors that Mario, the Lo Specchio manager, had used five days prior. No one paid her any attention. The nearby bartenders served drinks, the guests danced and laughed, and Val felt invisible at last.
She took a deep breath, curling her fingers into her jacket sleeves to stop her trembling, and looked out across the dancefloor one last time. Matteo was nowhere to be seen.
"I'm sorry, cane," Val whispered on her exhale. Then, she placed her back against the door, mustered her courage, and forced her way into the New York City underworld.