Chapter 14
GIOVANNI
Fleeting lights from Carlisle’s cityscape streak Valentina’s beautiful face when they pass the tinted windows of my town car.
She’s sprawled on the seat opposite mine, her head lolling with the car’s gentle sways.
Her parted lips suggest her sleep is unaffected by the sedative that stole memories of the procedure that will bind her to me for eternity.
Valeria hasn’t assembled the puzzle pieces as effectively as I have. She’s still of the belief that Valentina has something she owns.
I’ve yet to reach the same conclusion.
Dr. Di Petro said that instead of retrieving Valentina’s eggs, they implanted Valeria’s embryos inside her. Instead. Not after the procedure she’d gone to the clinic to have. Not in addition to. He implied that the egg retrieval procedure had been completely overlooked.
This not only boosts the chances of conception but also places Valentina alongside Valeria as the potential mother of my child.
It isn’t solely from the number of embryos inserted, which was only two since Valeria refused to carry multiples, fueling my campaign, but also that we failed to use protection.
Last night, I took Valentina bare—more than once.
I’ve never been more grateful for the lapse in judgment.
Although I’m not an expert on women’s psyches, the pamphlets I perused during Valeria’s repeated visits to the clinic taught me that women are more fertile during the stimulation of eggs.
Valeria also offered that as her excuse when she snuck into my bed earlier this month.
She hoped a meaningless hookup would mean avoiding an invasive procedure.
While she’ll never admit this, she also desired our partnership to seem legitimate and would do whatever was necessary to make that attainable.
I once again opposed her plans. I’d met Valentina by then, and no amount of alcohol could have me mistaking Valeria’s waif-thin frame for Valentina’s sultry curves. I also didn’t want it to. Perfection can’t be copied, and no man would sign up for a cheap imitation.
As hope thickens both my veins and my cock, I watch Valentina’s chest rise and fall. Her slow, steady breaths are a comfort amidst my fury over her unconsciousness. While the world outside is a chaotic blur of revenge plots and death notes, in here, time feels suspended.
Calm always precedes a storm.
Valeria clears her throat, unsubtly reminding me that she’s beside me. Her posture is rigid, and her hands wring the silk handkerchief I refused to use to ensure Valentina didn’t “get away.”
I don’t mind if she runs.
The chase will mark the commencement of our foreplay, and I’m more than ready to have Valentina back underneath me.
Valeria’s tension is palpable. It’s the kind of anger that makes my jaw ache from tensing it too frequently, and it worsens when her sniveling words infiltrate my ears. “How do you know her?”
When I arch a brow, silently warning that I don’t answer to anyone, she lowers her tone. Too bad it does nothing to diminish the whistle of audacity in her words.
“You’re looking at her like you know her. Like she isn’t some random woman who came in and snatched our child out from beneath us.”
“What happened was a mistake.” Not even her pounding pulse would have her missing my scathing tone. “Valentina didn’t do anything wrong.”
Valeria scoffs. “She did this on purpose, Giovanni. I know she did.” I’m about to point out that her insults to Valentina are also insults to me, but she keeps talking before I can.
“You fucked her, didn’t you? She’s the girl your brothers have been talking about all month.
The damsel in distress you swooped in and saved. ”
“If I did?” My tone is a warning that I’m at the end of my rope.
She pays it no attention. “Then you fell into her trap like Dante did Camille’s mother, and for what?” A bitter, jealousy-filled laugh reverberates around the cab of the car. “She isn’t even your type.”
Even though her eyes are red from crying, and more than mascara clumps her lashes together, I still struggle not to respond to her ill-formed misconceptions with violence. For one, this is nothing like what Dante went through. Not even close. And two, Valentina is more than my type.
She is the only option.
Valeria locks gazes with me, and her eyes plead for me to understand. “When we were filling out our paperwork, she mentioned how similar our names were. She joked about how it would be easy for the clinic to get us mixed up. She seemed hopeful. Like she wanted it to happen.”
With a scoff, I shake my head. “Why would she do that? What benefit could she get from a mix-up like this?”
“She agreed to sell her eggs for money, Giovanni. You’ve clearly overestimated her self-worth.”
Valeria twists her lips, and her leg bounces with anger and something else. Fear, maybe? It’s expected. I haven’t stopped shooting daggers at her since she juiced up Valentina’s veins with a sedative.
“After the doctor mentioned my low egg count, he went over surrogacy options and their financial implications. She’ll get five times what she would have with a simple donation, and that with a standard, everyday couple.
” Her huff announces she doesn’t class herself as anything close to standard.
“She knows the power she now holds, and if she’s smart, she’ll exploit it for all it’s worth. ”
My initial impulse is to dismiss her claims outright and attribute them to her desperation to assign fault. The way she looks at me, however, eyes glistening and pleading, prevents me from doing so.
For several miles, I attempt to talk some sense into her.
Why would Valentina orchestrate something like this?
What could she possibly gain?
Valeria remains persistent. She paints Valentina as a cunning opportunist who saw an opening and took it without a second thought.
“She saw you outside the clinic, walking me in. I’m confident she did.”
Since I’m unable to deny her claim, I remain quiet. Her theories are nonsense. Valentina is different. But I can’t control the memories that surface. For years, women have tried to worm their way into my family’s good graces. They lie, manipulate, and scheme for a taste of the Caruso legacy.
Dante’s baby mama is the most recent and painful example. Her brief intermission in the Caruso household left a trail of chaos in its wake.
Furthermore, I’ve seen what desperation can do. It can twist even the most innocent intentions into something ugly. But Valentina? She doesn’t seem like that.
As rows of lemon groves whiz past my window, I go over every moment we’ve shared, searching for signs I might have missed. She looked at me with an open rawness that was also defiant, and she was clueless of my identity until I revealed my name.
If she’d known my influence aligned with Valeria’s perspective, what was the reason for her repeated escapes?
Because she knows you like the chase.
Loathing my inner monologue, I ball my hands into fists. Trusting my instincts is as natural as breathing, but is an attraction powerful enough to thicken my cock even while I’m being played for a fool impairing my judgment?
In all honesty, it doesn’t matter. Just the memory of Valentina’s lips on mine and the way her body fit against me, as if designed for me, has me willing to hand over every dime I have, so who cares if Valeria’s claims are true?
You can’t be played when you sign up to participate.
Don’t get me wrong, I want Valentina to be innocent. I’d rather she be, but obsession is a dangerous thing. It can make a man rush to his death without thinking twice.
I’m more than obsessed with this woman. I am consumed. Fanatical. My cravings for her are near pathological.
I want her enough that I’m willing to play with fire and risk being singed to ash.
“She’ll wake up soon,” Valeria says, drawing my attention back to her. “And then you’ll realize that I’m telling the truth.”
As the car turns onto the long drive leading to the family compound, I tighten and loosen my jaw. The gates swing open, and the Caruso mansion looms ahead, illuminating the safe haven built for the residents of Carlisle.
Our home isn’t solely the biggest house in Carlisle.
It is also the best. Marble columns flank the entrance, and the gardens stretch out in manicured perfection.
Fountains and statues that hint at old money are scattered throughout the compound, while the imposing wrought iron gates silently acknowledge our power.
This place is more than a home. It’s a fortress. A statement. Every stone used to build its thirty-six bedrooms is a testament to the strength of the Caruso name. My brothers and I all live here, together, under one roof. Some say it’s old-fashioned, but to us, it’s tradition.
It is what keeps our bond unbreakable.
The compound’s layout offers ample space for privacy but is tight-knit enough that loyalty to the family is never in question. Here, we eat together, argue together, and plot together. Our unity is our greatest weapon, and I’m eager to use it to sail through my latest dilemma.
Inside walls steeped in history, portraits of our ancestors line the halls. While the dining room accommodates fifty guests, the library, game room, and private bar are where the real business happens.
Port and cigars have been part of many agreements struck here.
It’s no secret that outsiders desire what we have.
Even those already wealthy will do anything to be a part of our success.
They swarm like sharks, seeking invitations or an offer of partnership.
Some even dangle their daughters in front of us like prized fish.
They want the Caruso name on their side, and the security and prestige that come with being one of us.
That’s why we keep the gates sealed shut. They open for us, but for others, they signify that not everything can be bought, no matter how deep your pockets. I’ve seen men and women of great means debase themselves for a seat at our table. Some succeed, but most fail.
Here, only the strongest survive, and Valentina is about to be put through the most brutal test.