Chapter 43
MAX
I’d dreaded this meeting the most.
The air was filled with flowery perfume—a scent that had become all too familiar.
Heavy curtains blocked out most of the morning sun, which made the already dim room suffocating.
The silence was broken only by the faint sound of traffic from the street below and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.
Time continued to tick past me without mercy.
“Max, would you relax?” Valentina urged in a slow, annoyed voice. “Have a drink, won’t you?”
I glanced at her, my jaw tight. “It’s seven in the morning. I don’t have time for this.”
Somehow, everything always came back to Valentina. She caused more problems than she was worth. But she knew too much, so I had to put my anger aside.
She smirked, relaxing her posture. She was always like this—seemingly at ease but ready to strike at any moment. “You’re marrying into a world of trouble. You’d better make the time.”
“Right,” I admitted, taking a deep breath. “Let me get on with it then. You attract bad attention, Valentina. And you drink too much,” I said, my voice firm.
A slow smile spread across her lips—the kind of smile that had the power to disarm most men. I wasn’t most men. “I attract attention, yes, but bad? That’s subjective, Max.”
“I need stability and predictability. You are neither.”
“Is that why you’re marrying her—for ‘stability’?”
I stepped closer, my eyes locking onto hers. “You know the stakes as well as I do. I’m not looking for salvation, just trying to keep the ship from sinking.”
She tilted her head, a mocking smile playing on her lips. “Because of the opium you’re transporting? Funny that you’re lecturing me on my bad habits when you clearly have your own to deal with.”
Her insults hit me like a dull knife, but the real pain came from the realization she knew about the opium.
“What do you know about the Americans, Valentina?”
She leaned forward, lighting the end of a cigarette. “What don’t I know about them? I know they work with the Feds. I also know they’ve been dipping their hands into your cookie jar for weeks.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And what do they want with you?”
She exhaled a plume of smoke, the faint glow of the cigarette illuminating her face. “They want what everyone wants, Max. Control. Power. They liked working with Cillian and thought I had valuable information for them.”
“Do you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Depends on their offer.”
My head fell back, and I let out a dark laugh that vibrated deep in my chest. “Let me guess. Your silence has a price too.”
“I just want what’s mine, and in return, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“And what is yours?”
“My inheritance.”
I see. I should’ve known this was how it would play out. I knew she’d find out eventually, but that didn’t change my answer.
“I can’t marry you off as you are, and you know that. Attend your AA meetings—then we’ll talk about matching you up.”
“Or you could just give me the money anyway.”
I met her gaze. “Doesn’t work like that,” I replied firmly.
“What if I told you something that would benefit you in the long run?”
“Yeah?” I asked, unamused. “And what is that?”
“That’ll cost you.”
I nodded slowly. “Of course it will. It always does. But it still doesn’t work like that.
Your inheritance was placed into a contingent trust, and I am the appointed trustee.
That means, legally, I manage the trust, but you can’t access the funds until you meet the set conditions—specifically, getting married.
No one can change the terms or access the funds prematurely, including me.
And I can’t marry you off as you are—you know, alcoholic and all. ”
“Perfect.”
“You want money? You’re going to have to earn it. Meetings are scheduled for Friday afternoons starting next week. I expect a chip each milestone as proof of your attendance. In return, I will give you a hundred thousand.”
She raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “Each meeting? That’s a hundred thousand dollars every thirty days.”
“That should be more than enough to help your mother if you make it to the meetings weekly.”
“If I can’t get my inheritance until I’m married, what’s the point in giving you the chips?”
“I’m going to give you the money myself.”
Valentina’s eyes narrowed. “My compliance can only be bought all at once, not in bits and pieces.”
I leaned forward, my gaze locking onto hers. “That’s not how this works. If you want to be taken seriously, you need to show you’re serious about changing.”
Her eyes flashed with many emotions all at once—anger, defiance, hope, and acceptance. She clearly couldn’t process her emotions in her drunken state. It took her a minute to realize I was choosing the help her anyway.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because I believe in giving people a chance to turn their lives around. I also believe hard work is rewarded with opportunities.”
Valentina’s expression hardened. “So I’m just supposed to jump through hoops for you?”
“Not for me,” I corrected. “For yourself. This is your opportunity to prove you’re responsible enough to manage what is rightfully yours.”
She stared at me, the wheels turning in her head. “And what if I don’t care about proving anything to anyone?”
“Then you’ll get nothing,” I replied. “No one is forcing you to do this. The choice is yours. But understand this clearly—if you keep going as you are, I’ll have to take different measures.”
“Different measures?” she echoed.
“Yes. You’ve been given more chances than most. This is your last opportunity to prove you can handle this responsibly and keep my business out of your damn mouth.”
There was a long silence as she considered her options.
“And Valentina?”
She looked back at me.
“I’m not your enemy. This isn’t a punishment. It’s a chance to start fresh.”
She couldn’t say “thank you” because it would hurt her pride. What she said instead caught me off-guard.
“You should think about putting the marina in Rosalie’s name.”
I gave her a look, and she continued.
“Liam wouldn’t kill his own daughter to get the marina back, but he would kill you. He doesn’t have a plan yet, which will make him impulsive. He’s running out of time, and your wedding is in a week.”
“What’s the point in that, huh? You think I’d hand it back over to the Clarkes that easily?”
Assigning the marina to Rosalie was risky. It could jeopardize everything. Her father would undoubtedly take drastic measures if he discovered the marina was no longer in my name.
Perhaps this was all a setup.
A setup I didn’t have the time for.
I shot her a look before turning on my heel to leave.
If I spoke with Valentina any more, she could gain leverage and completely backstab me. Talking with a snake always came with consequences, and Valentina was venomous.
Trusting Rosalie with something so crucial felt like handing over my heart on a platter. My life was already in her hands. If she refused to go through with the marriage, Giovanni would have no choice but to deal with me. My life and everything I’d worked for would be in Rosalie’s hands.
Love. It was such a fragile, volatile thing to hinge my life on, especially when I was certain she didn’t feel any of that for me. She couldn’t love me if she didn’t trust me, and trust was something we were still building, piece by precarious piece.
Once again, my trust was being tested.