Chapter 31 Valentina #2
He didn’t mind. It was almost as if he genuinely wanted to help me.
Marco was good at that, wasn’t he? He’d been doing it since the moment we met—stepping in, helping out, smoothing things over without me even having to ask.
It was one of those soft, frustrating things about him that I could never quite wrap my head around.
Why did he always seem to know what I needed even before I did?
And why did it feel so dangerous—so risky—to let him in like this?
I’d been here a million times.
I’d climbed these steps as a kid, sprinted up them when I was late for curfew, sat on this porch with my sister drinking coffee, and curled up here alone on the nights when the world had felt too big and I’d needed to shrink back into the person I used to be.
This house was my last safe place. The one place I’d managed to keep separate from everything else—Max, the Outfit, every mistake I’d ever made.
And yet somehow I was letting Marco cross even this last boundary.
What scared me the most was how easily it happened—how naturally he slipped through the cracks I didn’t even know I had.
“Okay,” I said, forcing the chaotic feelings out with a breath. “Ground rules.”
Marco arched a brow. “Ground rules?”
“Yes.” I straightened my spine. “You’re a guest. That means no brooding in the corner looking like you have bodies in your trunk.”
His lip twitched. “I don’t have bodies in my trunk.”
I crossed my arms. “No, but you look like you might.”
“Next rule?”
I hesitated, realizing suddenly that I hadn’t thought this through as thoroughly as I’d pretended to. “No talking about work. Or Max. Or Cillian. Or . . . anything related to that whole world, okay? Just for tonight, we pretend none of that exists.”
He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, like he understood more than I meant for him to. “You got it.”
Ever since Marco had stepped into my life, it had been a continuous struggle between wanting him closer and needing him gone.
No matter how much I tried to deny it—and I did—he’d always been the one person truly looking out for me.
Even when I fought him, even when I pretended I didn’t need him, Marco had been quietly at my side, cleaning up my messes and stepping in whenever things threatened to spin out of control.
I’d never had someone do that before—not like this.
Not without a hidden agenda. I’d been dependent on people plenty of times for money, for safety, for survival, but emotionally?
Letting someone see behind my walls, admitting—even to myself—that I needed someone else?
That was terrifying. That was dangerous.
It was the one dependency I’d sworn never to allow myself, and yet here I was, dangerously close to relying on Marco in exactly that way.
It scared me more than any physical danger ever had.
Because Marco wasn’t supposed to be this person for me.
He wasn’t supposed to be the one I trusted.
Yet he’d become the one constant in my life.
And standing beside him now, looking at this porch that represented everything simple and safe and good I’d ever known, I realized with a sinking certainty I’d already let him in.
I turned away, staring at the familiar front door and trying to calm the riot in my chest.
I was terrified of needing Marco. Even more terrified of how much I already did.
“Ready?” he asked.
I hesitated.
This was too much.
Too fast.
Marco studied me for a second. “You seem nervous.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not nervous.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“Then why are we still standing out here?”
My stomach twisted. I hated that he could see through me. It made me want to knock just to prove I wasn’t nervous.
Marco shifted awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say. “Look, it’s fine. If anything goes sideways in there, I’ll handle it.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’ll handle it?”
He shrugged stiffly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”
I fought back a smile at his clumsy attempt to reassure me. God, he was terrible at this—at being comforting, at offering anything close to emotional support. But I saw him trying.
“Fine,” I muttered, finally lifting my hand toward the door. “But if this does go sideways—”
“I know,” he cut me off dryly, his mouth curving faintly again. “You’ll blame me.”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I knocked on the door.
Marco looked down at me, standing right beside me. He was perfectly calm. I suppose lawyers were good at this kind of stuff, weren’t they?
The sound of footsteps echoed from inside, followed by the low murmur of voices.
I could still leave. I could make up some excuse, say I felt sick, tell Isabel that Marco had a work emergency—
But then the door swung open.
Too late.
Isabel stood in the doorway with a look of pure relief. “Thank God. I was starting to think you’d bailed on us again,” she said, pulling me in for a hug.
I hugged her back, but the word echoed quietly in my chest. Again.
As if I was always on the edge of disappointing her.
As if people expected me to vanish, screw things up, or let someone down, because that was just what I did.
The worst part was, Isabel probably didn’t even realize she’d said it.
It was casual for her. Easy. Second nature.
I forced a smile as I pulled away, shoving down the tight, bitter feeling in my throat. Because maybe she was right. Maybe people expected the worst from me for good reason.
When she let go of me, I saw her eyes drifting over my shoulder, locking onto Marco.
“Hi,” she said in her usual polite manner. “I’m Isabel, her sister.”
“Marco.” He introduced himself with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Before either of us could say anything else, Lucia’s voice shrieked through the hall.
“Tía!”
Then a small, warm body collided with me, knocking me back into Marco. He didn’t move, but his hand held the small of my back steady.
I laughed, catching her easily. “You act as if I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I missed you,” she declared, squeezing me tight.
I smiled and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Missed you too, carino.”
Lucia pulled back just enough to peer around me, and when she spotted Marco, her face lit up. “You came!”
Marco didn’t any anything—he just nodded with a smile.
She wrapped her small fingers around mine. “Come on—dinner’s almost ready!”
I glanced back.
Marco was still standing on the porch. He hesitated before stepping inside, and I thought that was strange, because Marco never hesitated.
He stepped a bit further in, scanning another set of photos—my senior prom, Isabel’s graduation, and of course, a classic: me at twelve with a gap in my teeth, proudly holding a science-fair trophy I’d totally stolen from Isabel. I’d never admit it, but it was my personal favorite.
Marco’s mouth twitched a tiny bit as if he knew exactly which one I was staring at.
Daniel walked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.
He glanced up, doing a subtle double take when his eyes landed on Marco.
The look was classic Daniel—careful, suspicious, with a healthy dash of “What the hell have you done now, Valentina?” I could sense him running a full background check in his head.
Great. This was exactly what I needed—my very own human lie detector meeting Mr. Billable Hours.
Daniel’s attention darted between us again, waiting for me to say something. Marco, of course, stood perfectly still, as if he expected someone else to handle the introductions.
“Hey, Vale,” Daniel finally said, drawing out the greeting. He was aiming for calm, but I knew him too well. He was already prepared for either an interrogation or to hide a body—whichever scenario I presented first. “You going to introduce your . . . uh . . . friend?”
I almost laughed. Friend? Marco was as much my friend as a tax audit—uncomfortably thorough and annoyingly unavoidable.
“Daniel, this is Marco,” I said sweetly. “Marco, this is Daniel, my brother-in-law and resident skeptic.”
“Good to meet you,” Marco said, extending his hand.
Daniel shook it firmly. “You too. Valentina doesn’t usually bring guests.”
Translation: Valentina usually doesn’t tolerate anyone long enough to invite them to a family dinner, so who the hell are you?
“So I’ve heard,” Marco mused.
I bit back a smirk, enjoying Marco’s careful discomfort way more than I should.
Welcome to family dinners, lawyer. Hope you survive.
Finally, Daniel nodded slightly, releasing his grip. “Come on in. Hope you like enchiladas.”
“I do.”
I narrowed my eyes. Do you?
I didn’t know that about him. The man ate work hours for breakfast.
Lucia tugged on my sleeve. “Come on, tía! You have to sit next to me.”
I let her drag me toward the dining room, and of course, Marco slid into the seat beside me, his thigh brushing mine, and suddenly, my blood pressure was rivaling Manhattan rent prices.
My worlds were colliding spectacularly, and all I could do was watch and pray nobody said anything I’d have to explain later.
I could already feel the headache coming on.
Isabel, of course, was already watching us like we were the most interesting thing to ever happen at this table. She wasn’t digging yet, but I knew her. She was feeling things out, deciding when to push—how hard, how fast.
And then, right on cue, “So, Marco,” she said, resting her elbow on the table, smiling. “How did you and Vale meet?”
I was nowhere near ready for this.
My mouth opened, but before I could get a single word out—
“We met at a bodega,” Marco said smoothly.
I blinked at him.
Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”