Chapter Twenty-One
Chantilly
I didn’t want to feel such a deep, overwhelming sense of peace having Valentino’s arms wrapped around me, but I did. It was as if I belonged here with him, as if I was safe when he was near.
The opposite couldn’t be truer. I’d no sooner relax and trust in him when he’d cut short my life and make me realize just how little I meant to him, after all.
It was scary to acknowledge my depth of feelings for him. Yes, I hated him, but the opposite was just as true. Despite having Sean’s blood on his clothes—or perhaps because he had Sean’s blood on his clothes—I still yearned to be with him.
I’d always thought Sean was invincible, but Valentino had proven otherwise. It seemed my new captor was the untouchable one. But swapping one deadly man for another didn’t make me any less expendable.
I was just another man’s victim.
Valentino killed so easily and with no regrets. I was certain he’d do the same to me eventually; it was just a matter of time.
I sighed heavily, my eyes dropping to his neck and the gold chain with its key dangling irresistibly from it. I didn’t even need to take his chain off. All I’d need was to press the tiny button on the key to deactivate the alarms.
But first…I had to extricate myself from his arms. No point switching off security if I couldn’t go anywhere.
I almost giggled. How long ago had it been that I’d wished for his arms to be wrapped around me? Now I had that wish I was already planning my escape.
My lips tightened. Perhaps if my death wasn’t imminent I wouldn’t be actively seeking to leave. Add in the fact Sean was dead, there was a good chance I wouldn’t now have to look over my shoulder everywhere I went.
Unless Valentino refused to let me go and tracked me down.
You’re his property now. He’ll want you back, if not to be with you then to complete his mission and regain his don’s trust.
A sudden headache bloomed behind my temple and even when I managed to wriggle out from his arms the thought of leaving no longer held any appeal. Instead I hobbled into the bathroom on my bandaged feet and opened the vanity mirror. Finding a bottle of paracetamol, I threw two pills into the back of my mouth, then cupped my hands under the tap to swallow the pills with water.
It wasn’t until I put the bottle back that another bottle caught my attention. I retrieved it and read the script. Sleeping pills. My heart stuttered. So he did have a conscience, one that apparently kept him awake at night.
“Tilly?”
Valentino’s sleepy voice rang with undercurrents of panic. I placed the bottle back where I’d found it even as my mind ran rampant with ideas. “I’m in here,” I called out.
I stepped back into the bedroom where his bleary stare focused on me. “I thought you’d gone.”
I pointed at my feet. “And hobble my way out of here?” I asked.
He frowned. “You should keep off your feet.”
I nodded and slipped into bed with him while the sun blazed outside. “Try telling my bladder that,” I lied. I didn’t want him know about the tablets I’d seen. I lay on my back and stared up at the ceiling, all too conscious of his eyes on me. “You can go back to sleep now.”
He did just that the moment he’d secured his arms around me, his soft snores then reverberating in my ears before I closed my eyes and surrendered to the darkness enveloping me.
I woke to the doorbell ringing and to the realization I’d slept the day away with shadows already growing outside the bedroom window.
Valentino grunted as he sat, then looked down at me before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “That would be your gown Marco has been working on.”
He stood and I forced my stare away from his masculine perfection before he shoved his arms into the sleeves of his bathrobe, then disappeared out of the room. I blinked at the empty doorway. “Gown?” I mumbled.
Ignoring my bandaged feet, I walked gingerly to the large walk-in closet, then pulled on a simple green and white cotton dress and a lacy thong. My feet were already healing and nowhere near as painful and sore thanks to my healing sleep.
I grinned. I’d be pounding my way out of here in no time.
Valentino was climbing the stairs with my gown concealed inside a garment cover when I entered the open lounge, dining and kitchen area. His eyes widened. “You should keep off your feet.”
I shrugged. “They’re a lot better.”
Draping the gown over the island counter, he pulled out a barstool. “Take a seat while I make us something to eat. I did promise you dinner out on the balcony.”
I nodded, and accepted the proffered seat. “You did.”
He pulled out chicken, bacon, onion and garlic, along with black pepper and a bag of fettucine. It wasn’t until he filled the kettle with water and flicked it on, then began dicing everything on his cutting board that I asked, “Are you making chicken and bacon carbonara?”
He nodded. “It’s quick and tasty.” He looked up at me. “You enjoy it too?”
I nodded. “I do.” I nodded to the fridge. “I’m happy to whisk the eggs, parmesan and cream together.
He stopped cutting as he arched a brow and focused on me. “You have cream in yours?”
“You don’t?”
“It’s not traditional,” he said, even as he pulled the eggs, cheese and cream from out of the fridge and placed them in front of me. “But I’m willing to destroy the dish a little if you like it that way.”
He bent to retrieve a bowl and a whisk from one of the island bench drawers, then placed them in front of me. I was too busy being shocked that he yielded to my personal preference.
It wasn’t until he began frying the meat, onion and garlic that my stomach compressed with hunger. I cracked the eggs and whisked them with a little cream. I was going to devour my share of dinner.
Adding boiled water from the jug into a large saucepan, he added some salt then the pasta before he retrieved my wet mix and added it into the fried chicken, bacon, onion and garlic. Turning the heat down and allowing the pasta to come back to a boil, he said, “Give me one minute to get dressed.”
I waited until he was gone before I eyed off the gown inside its garment cover. Though I’d never been one to dress up for a man, I suddenly wanted this man to appreciate my feminine form. I wanted to be wrapped up like a long-awaited present for him to unwrap.
I leaned forward, my arm outstretched to take a peek at the gown I’d be wearing, when Valentino stepped back into vision. I snatched my arm back. He was dressed in casual denim jeans and a soft dove-gray cashmere sweater. That he looked edible and all too powerful was a secondary thought to the realization he wasn’t expecting trouble tonight.
A tailored suit, the more expensive the better, was a mafia man’s uniform. It screamed luxury while commanding respect. That he carried a jacket that was meant for me made my heart soften just a little even before he wrapped it around my shoulders.
“The sea breezes get cool at night,” he said huskily.
Five minutes later he was draining the pasta and stirring in the meat and cream concoction, then ladling the carbonara into bowls before adding a little more parmesan on top.
Lending me his elbow, I hobbled with him out onto the balcony. The sun was just disappearing behind the ocean, the water reflecting the sky’s orange and red notes. “Beautiful,” I whispered.
“I agree,” he said, though his stare stayed on me as he pulled out a seat before I sank into it. “I’ll be right back,” he added.
A minute later he brought out our cutlery and two steaming bowls of carbonara, along with a pair of crystal flutes and a bottle of chilled champagne. After filling the flutes, he lifted his into the air to clink it against mine “Cin cin,” he said huskily.
Feeling the need for some liquid courage, I chugged half my drink down before setting the glass back onto the table and sniffing appreciatively at the steamy garlic scent of the carbonara.
“Let’s eat,” he said.
I stuck my fork into my bowl and twirled my pasta around then lifted the mound of it up and into my mouth. The explosion of flavor made me moan and close my eyes. When I opened them next, Valentino watched me with glittering eyes and a half-smile that softened his face ever so slightly.
I swallowed and asked, “What?”
He leaned forward and dabbed at one corner of my lips with a napkin. “You have a little something here.”
“Oh.” My face burned. “I always make a mess when I eat pasta dishes.”
He chuckled. “So I noticed.” He leaned back, then lifted his forkful and sucked the tines clean before he chewed, not a speck on his clothes or his beard. He winked. “I grew up on pasta.”
“Did you?” I asked, twirling my fork once again and making the mound a little smaller and manageable before I stuck it in my mouth.
He nodded. “Mom was a typical Italian who loved to cook and eat. She had to learn restraint though as we never had a lot of money to waste on fancy things.” He took a sip of his drink. “Not until I was old enough to earn decent money.”
“I’m sure she’s very proud of how you’re earning money now,” I said drily.
“Actually, she was,” he countered.
Was? As in she was no longer around? I cleared my throat. “Is she—“
“She’s dead,” he interjected roughly. “Life wasn’t kind to her thanks to living with domestic violence, but I’d like to think she was at peace for the last five years of her life before cancer took her.”
So Valentino had been a product of domestic violence. Little wonder he’d grown up doing what he did. Not that it was an excuse, but it certainly made me see things a little clearer.
“How old were you when she died?”
“I was twenty-three. She died fifteen years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. What else could I say? No one deserved to lose their mother, especially at such a young age.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly.
I chewed my bottom lip. “It’s given me a little insight into your life.”
“Of why I do what I do?”
I nodded. “Yes. Though I’m sure there is a lot more to your story.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? My aggressive reputation preceded me. The Agostino don at that time—Ethan’s father—approached me to become his next enforcer.”
“His last enforcer died?”
“Yes. I killed him.”
I blinked. “I can’t believe the don allowed you to live. Their men become their family.”
“Lorenzo wasn’t known for his…affections. He was about as cold and heartless as anyone could get. In my eyes he was edging toward insanity. It was nothing short of a relief when Ethan shot him.”
I blinked at him, trying to read his face and failing. “Really?” I squeaked. “You wanted Lorenzo dead?”
“In the end I think everyone did, except possibly Carlo.” He twirled his pasta again. “Either way, Ethan chose Sabrina. He did the right thing. What his father asked him to do was…sick, even as a don.”
“I had been told Lorenzo asked Ethan to kill his wife…the woman he loved.” Sabrina had been in a similar situation to me, waiting for the death bells to toll. “At least Ethan loved her enough to spare her,” I said faintly.
“Yes, he did.”
I absently twirled my pasta, then looked back up at my captor. “Do you think you might consider sparing me?”