Chapter 26 Valentina
VALENTINA
Pure hell. Gut-wrenching torment. That’s how I’d describe the last fifteen minutes of my life. But if I’m honest, I’d also admit it was the most uplifting confidence boost I’ve ever had.
Giovanni’s tongue is wicked, and not solely when it’s lapping up the multiple arousals he forces out of me in a short period.
It should have been a stretch to make me come once, but I stopped counting at four.
I feel good, and not all the sparks are compliments to Giovanni’s amazing cock and wicked mouth.
Some are because I didn’t succumb to his demands at the start of our exchange.
I was horny, there’s no doubting that, and seemingly submissive, but I could have thrown Valeria under the bus to save myself.
I didn’t because I have values—unlike her.
“Thank you,” I murmur under my breath when Giovanni hands me the underwear I removed earlier. I slip them up my shuddering legs as our SUV slowly merges toward the curb of the downtown district.
When the creak of the swinging sign at the front of the pub projects through the tinted windows, I wait for the familiar weight of exhaustion to settle in my bones.
I appreciate having the capability to work and that not everyone is as fortunate, especially when you only have a foreign bank account, but this place is as draining to my energy as the hours I spent walking the halls of the surgical ward, waiting to hear if my mother’s operation had been a success.
Alessandro is a misogynist pig. It takes everything I have not to slap him each shift, but I have to do this. If Valeria is right and Giovanni is only with me because he’s desperate for an heir, I need something to fall back on when my world once again implodes.
I hate myself for distrusting Giovanni’s motives, even more so after our awe-inspiring commute, but doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will.
When I crank my neck to Giovanni, not hazed enough with lust to consider stepping out while his glistening cock is still hanging out of his pants—I’m sexually satiated, not cured of jealousy—I’m met with an empty seat.
Confused, I dart my eyes between the individuals milling in close to admire a car that would have had a hefty import fee. When a pink hue creeps up the necks of a handful of women, I realize they’re not envying a gleaming chunk of metal.
Giovanni is in their sights.
Because I raked my fingers through his hair, it’s tousled in a sexy I-woke-up-like-this way, and his pupils, dilated with lust, appear darker than usual.
He screams of wealth and sexuality, and every woman eyeing him like a tiger would a steak knows he fucks like a god.
His arrogant strut announces this, much less the scent pluming from him.
It’s sweaty and sweet, a combination of us both.
Before I can process why I’m not gouging out the eyes of the women gawking with want, Giovanni opens the door for me.
His gentlemanly act shocks the women surrounding him.
I’m not at all surprised. Giovanni speaks fondly of his father, and my mother has always said to pick a man by the traits of his father.
If he’s a good, honest man, you’ve found yourself a good, honest man.
If he’s a snake in tall grass, run.
My grandfather on my father’s side was the latter.
When Giovanni holds out his hand to assist me out, I roll my eyes. It’s all an act. A smile is tugging at my lips, and I can feel my pulse raging through my body.
Confusion sideswipes my euphoria about his old-fashioned courtesy when he shuts the door behind me before he guides me under the pub’s alcove. Assuming he’s as traditional with his farewells as he is with common courtesies, I press my lips to his cheek and mouth, Bye.
Again, he doesn’t leave. He simply smirks, and the crowd flocks closer.
Although I’m seconds away from acting like a possessive jerk, I keep my tone impassive while saying, “You don’t have to stay. I can take it from here.”
He sees straight through my lie. “Do you need another detour, dolcezza?”
Detour?
My throat burns when I glance at his watch. A lot more time has passed than I believed.
Now I know why those fifteen minutes felt like the longest fifteen minutes of my life.
It was closer to an hour.
“It isn’t like we don’t have time.” Giovanni nudges his head to the closed sign hanging in the window. The opening hours are clear, and they scream in his face that I’m a big fat liar.
I still try to act nonchalant, though. “The staff always arrives early. We have to set up before the patrons arrive.”
His brow gets lost in his hair half a second before he snatches up my wrist and drags me back toward the SUV. “Second detour it is.”
Knowing I’ll never survive another hour being tormented into submission, I shout, “Fine! If you want to waste your morning priming kegs for consumption, who am I to stop you?”
After freeing my wrist from his hold and dodging the thirsty women desperate to take my place, I stab the keys I normally use to lock up into the lock, fling open the door, then gesture for Giovanni to enter first.
He scoffs, disgusted. He’d never leave me defenseless to the wolves, and the women surrounding us are out for blood.
The crowd sighs as if bestiality is attractive when I dart into the pub as per the request of Giovanni’s glare.
I set my bag behind the bar and spin to face him before giving him my best “boss” look. If he wants to babysit me like I’m a child and hide it under the guise of being helpful, I’ll put him to work.
His dark eyes follow my hand when I jerk it to the cellar door.
“The kegs are in the refrigerator down there. You need to carry them up the stairs, carefully, of course, and connect a CO2 tank, regulator, gas line, and liquid line to a coupler. Then…” I wait, expecting some kind of backlash.
When it never comes, I continue. “You need to connect it to a tap, which you will have to prime to ensure there are no leaks. Alcohol is expensive. We can’t waste a single drop. ”
Not a hint of protest fetters Giovanni’s deliriously handsome face. He simply nods before heading in the direction I nudged. “How many kegs do you need me to bring up?”
I stagger back, a little thrown by his lack of objection. “Er… two, for now. A lager and a pale ale. The kegs have labels, so just match them up. If you get stuck, shout, and I’ll come help you.”
Already rolling up his sleeves, he grins and winks. “Got it, boss.”
I butt my hip with the bar and wait when he disappears down the cellar’s creaky steps, anticipating him to reappear at any moment. The cart for the kegs is in the owner’s office, and he’ll need that.
Instead of a crash or a curse, minutes later, Giovanni reappears, carrying a keg on each shoulder. He sets them down near the taps, wipes the condensation from his hands, then crouches under the bar to connect the lines.
All I do is stare. I’ve worked with five male bar staff over the past three months.
Four complained that the purpose-built stair cart should be replaced with an internal keg lift that would deliver the kegs from the cellar to the bar with the push of a button.
The other one whined the entire time that he wasn’t built for manual labor. He quit mid-shift.
Giovanni doesn’t cite a single gripe. He gets on with it like he’s worked here for years, and I’m tempted to check if he’s real.
How can you look like him, fuck like him, and understand hard work like he does?
I stop wondering when he pops up a handful of minutes later. As he dusts his hand, he strays his eyes to me. “All done. Do you want me to prime the lines, or do you want to check the connections first?”
I take a giant step back. “This is your baby, Vanni, so if you’ve made a mistake, you’ll be the only one wearing beer-soaked clothes today.”
He gleams, loving that I called him Vanni, before he grabs a glass from the rack, tilts it at the desired forty-five-degree angle, then pulls a beer like a pro.
He even straightens the glass slowly as it fills so it gets the ideal foam head, and he doesn’t spill a drop when he sets it on the countertop next to me.
“Is that up to your standards, boss, or shall I try again?”
His molten lava voice makes me want to melt like a popsicle on a hot summer’s day, but I hold my ground—scarcely.
“Try again.” Hating that he mistakes my reply as being snarky, I quickly add, “It’s never fun drinking alone.”
By the end of my shift, I’m utterly spent. My feet are aching, but the buzz of our commute hasn’t dulled a smidge. That probably has more to do with how often I’ve caught Giovanni’s hooded gaze over the past eight hours than anything else.
He’s still here, working pro bono alongside me.
I wasn’t rostered for today, but the pub was the only place that popped into my head when I sought somewhere to think without reminders of Giovanni constantly entering my head.
My boss was surprised to see me, but he protected my secret after he learned who had connected the kegs and stacked the shelves behind the bar.
He shook Giovanni’s hand, mumbled a brief introduction as if they hadn’t already met, then retreated to his office, leaving the brunt of the workload to Giovanni and me.
Giovanni didn’t mind. He chatted with the regulars and replaced the empty kegs before I could ask. He even charmed Mrs. O’Malley into leaving a bigger tip than usual.
I catch him staring as I wipe down the bar, his gaze lust-filled but attentive. “You good, dolcezza?”
I nod, though I have no idea why I bother. Giovanni seems to have a four-dimensional paradox directly to my soul. He barely arches a brow, and I cave.
“I’m tired. For some reason, I haven’t gotten much sleep the past week.”
Smirking, he rests his elbows on the counter I just cleaned, then says, “Why’s that?”
When I throw my dishcloth in his face, his laughter bellows around the nearly deserted space.
After dumping the cloth that smacked him upside the head, his demanding tone slashes through the haze swamping me. “It’s time to go home, dolcezza. If you’re a good girl during the drive, I might even let you sleep tonight.”
I laugh at his obvious lie while pushing up the sleeves of my shirt. I need to cool my skin before I beg him to make true on his threat when he told me he won’t hold back the next time I call him Vanni. He said he’ll fuck me on the closest surface he finds—witnesses or not.
I snap my eyes to Giovanni when a gargled groan rolls up his chest. With his eyes glued on my arm, he stands perfectly still. Too still.
I follow the direction of his gaze, and my happy mood circles the drain.
The marks I tried to hide from him earlier stand out like a nun in a brothel.
Four deep crescents from Valeria’s nails glow as vividly as the anger on Giovanni’s face.
I could feel the sting of her ironclad grip hours later, but as my shift continued, I pushed aside the pain as one of the effects of a long day.
Pure unfiltered rage fills Giovanni’s eyes as he struggles to maintain his cool. I’ve seen him angry before, but this is different. This level of anger is dangerous. He looks like he could tear the pub apart with his bare hands and it would disperse only a fraction of his fury.
“Giovanni…” My reply falls silent when I realize he isn’t looking at me anymore. His slit eyes are locked on someone over my shoulder.
I know who it is before I even glance over my shoulder.
Matteo’s presence is as suffocating as Giovanni’s, but since it has a playful edge, such as driving across town to witness his brother working a “regular job,” it doesn’t demand the attention of the entire room. You just know he’s there, watching.
Giovanni wets his throat as if he’s swallowing fire, and then his words come out low and lethal. “Take her home,” he says to Matteo. “Now.”
Matteo doesn’t hesitate. He straightens up fast enough to dislodge the woman he’s been sucking face with for the past two hours, nods, and heads my way.
The weight of Giovanni’s fury presses against my spine even as Matteo moves closer, and it surges my desperation. “Vanni…”
I must have tossed out my line without any bait, because Giovanni doesn’t even nibble at it. His focus is resolute, and he’s already far from here.
I want to tell him that I’m not fragile.
I have and will continue to handle this on my own, but my mouth refuses to relinquish my words.
Both my head and my heart know what this is really about.
It isn’t control. It’s protection. And right now, Giovanni’s belief that he failed to protect me is burning him alive.