Chapter 4
SEBASTIAN
Somewhere between the second and third red light on my way home, I realize I’ve barely registered the route. My mind was too busy replaying Valentina leaning back in her chair with that dry look on her face, calling me a nightmare client to my face.
I’m not the kind of man who loses time thinking about a woman I’ve just met. I notice them. I enjoy them when they’re worth enjoying. Sometimes I make room for one in my life for a while. I don’t dwell on first impressions like a schoolboy with a crush.
I also don’t creep on my friends’ relatives. That’s basic code. Valentina is Nico’s sister, which makes the whole thing spectacularly off-limits. Nico isn’t an experienced fighter, but I’d let him beat the shit out of me for hurting her. It’s a matter of principle.
I pull into my driveway, shut off the engine, and sit there in the dark. This is exactly why I keep distance between the different parts of my life. Business is one thing. Family connections are another. When those lines blur, things get complicated.
I have no interest in complications.
That should be the end of it. Instead, I’m thinking about her anyway.
Thinking about her when I walk into my house, pour myself a drink, and go through the messages waiting for me.
Thinking about her when two of my club managers drone on about problems. Thinking about her when a promoter calls asking for VIP access at one of my clubs.
Thinking about her when one of my attorneys tells me to check my email.
I dislike being curious when there’s nothing productive I can do with that curiosity. There’s no scenario in which I’d ever pursue her. I settle that in my mind and head upstairs, more confident in my reasoning.
Tonight was a casual, friendly dinner. Valentina Moretti is sharp, attractive, and entirely off-limits for more than one obvious reason. If I hire her for the charity gala, it’ll be because she’s qualified and because the event needs someone who is. There is no deeper agenda.
Unfortunately, my unconscious mind doesn’t get the memo. I have a very unprofessional dream about her sitting naked on Nico’s patio table where her legs may or may not be spread wide open for me. I’m absolutely fucked.
The next morning, I’m in my office by seven with coffee on the desk, a security report open in front of me, and one eye on the camera stills from Bellissimo’s exterior feed.
The club issue from the other day hasn’t gone away, which was expected.
Men like Carlo Marchetti rarely let a boundary sit untouched once they’ve started testing it.
The trick is deciding whether the test is meant to become something bigger or whether it’s just another boy riding borrowed confidence, trying to impress the wrong audience.
I study the still image again. A black sedan, parked across the street from the side entrance.
Wrong angle for a rideshare, and it’s been there too long for a guest pickup.
No plate visible from the shot we have, which means someone knows the camera angles.
Two similar sightings outside Bellissimo over the weekend and one near a smaller lounge in Hollywood that technically has nothing to do with the club issue but still lands in the same part of my mind.
It could be a coincidence, but coincidences are rare in this business.
The office is just waking up around me as elevators begin moving, and the sound of doors opening and closing down the hall flood my ears.
A single knock, then the door opens and Nico walks in without waiting.
Normal for him. He’s in a dark suit today, tie already loosened like he started the morning in a mood that hasn’t improved.
He shuts the door behind him, glances toward the coffeepot, and pours himself a cup without asking.
He’s been in this office enough to skip formalities.
“You look irritated,” he says.
“I’m always irritated,” I remind him.
“Not usually this early.”
He drops into the chair across from my desk and glances at the monitor on the side credenza where I left the club stills open.
“Is that the reason Darren was fired?” he asks casually.
“One of them,” I mutter. “Darren wasn’t very good at his job in general.”
He leans closer to the screen. “I think I saw that same sedan parked outside Dulce,” he says, squinting.
“I’ll look into it,” I say, pulse thrumming.
Nico leans back, eyes still on the screen. “It could be nothing.” He shrugs, because he doesn’t like to speculate on the more dangerous possibilities.
“It could.” I nod, though neither of us really believes that.
He takes another sip of coffee and looks at me over the rim. “So. Val mentioned you offered her a job,” he says casually, though that’s clearly the reason he walked in here.
“I told her about a job,” I correct. “She hasn’t sent me her proposal yet, so I haven’t offered her anything.”
“The gala?” he guesses.
“It’s a good event for us,” I say. “We raise enough money every year for charity that no one questions the rumors about our business.”
“What rumors?” He smirks, taking another sip. “In any case, I just want you to be careful with her.”
There are moments with him when I can see the older brother so clearly it overrides every other role he plays. He goes watchful, deliberate. Like there’s an entire side of him assessing every risk she could possibly face.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“You are a nightmare client,” he reminds me. “The last event planner you hired shut down her firm and left LA.”
“That wasn’t my fault.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
He smiles despite himself, then the smile fades just as fast. “I’m serious, Sebastian,” he says. “It never is your fault, and hell, I don’t really care about our past event planners. But you will be nice to my sister, and you will not make her quit. You’ll be careful with her.”
“Would you like a blood oath that I’m not going to make her cry at any point during the planning?”
“I’m serious, Seb,” he says firmly.
“So am I,” I say, pulling out a pocketknife.
He rolls his eyes. “Val is special. She’s built this life for herself without any help from me, and she’s really good at what she does. After what she’s been through, she deserves the win.”
I lean back in my chair and say nothing.
He’s already said more than he meant to, and we both know it.
If it were anyone else, he’d probably shut down, but we’ve been close friends for over a decade.
Whatever he’s been hiding about his sister, he’s finally ready to share with me.
If only because he doesn’t trust me around her.
He rubs a hand over his jaw. “She left New York because of a bad breakup. Really bad.”
I wait for him to continue.
He looks at the window instead of me. “That’s the short version.” He sighs. “It was a lot worse than you’re probably thinking, and I never want to watch her go through something like that again.”
I keep my face neutral, because anything else would shut him down, and because pity is usually the wrong reaction to pain.
“How bad was it?” I ask.
His expression hardens. “Think of the worst thing you can imagine. It was worse than that.”
That’s all I’m getting.
I nod once.
“I’m sorry she went through that,” I say. “But this is professional. I’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ll treat her with more respect than you’ve ever given anyone.”
I nearly laugh.
“And you won’t sleep with her.”
“Nico—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I’m serious, Sebastian. Let’s not pretend that’s not the reason those women get so frazzled. They’re so eager to please you after you’ve fucked them, then you go all cold and professional and they freak out.”
I sigh and have the good grace to look humbled.
He’s not wrong. I’ve been known to have a dalliance with a few of my event planners.
It always happens naturally, mutually. We’re working late nights, spending long hours together, and one thing leads to another.
I resent the idea that I’m the reason those women flake out on me when the event rolls around, but he’s not wrong to worry.
Except I would never cross that line with Valentina. Even if she is gorgeous. Even if she has curves I can’t stop thinking about. Even if—
“I swear to you, I would never sleep with your sister,” I say. “The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind.”
“It better not have,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Because if you’ve had even one inappropriate thought about her, I will kick your ass right now.”
“And you wonder why I’m always irritated,” I joke.
He lets out a breath, some of the tightness in his shoulders easing now that the words are out.
“I’m protective where she’s concerned. You might have noticed.”
“Were you trying to be subtle?” I quip.
He meets my eyes then, direct enough to make the point land cleanly.
“She worked hard to build something for herself out here. She’s doing well. She’s steady. She doesn’t need more mess.”
He’s given me a million questions to sit with, none of which he’s likely to answer. What exactly happened to her in New York?
“I promised to double her fee,” I tell him. “That’s something, at least.”
“Triple it,” he demands with a smile. “She’s worth it.”
I nod, and a companionable silence settles between us. Well. That’s out of the way. If I wasn’t already berating myself for having improper thoughts about Val, he’s just poured ice water over my brain.
“All right,” he says, standing. “I’m going to get to work. Thanks for listening.”
“Of course,” I tell him. “Thanks for not giving me food poisoning.”
He rolls his eyes and flips me off on his way out. “You buy bad fish one time . . .” he grumbles.
I buzz my assistant. “Send Matteo in when he gets here.”
A few minutes later, he appears in the doorway with a shit-eating grin.
“Are we debriefing about last night?” he asks. “Because I think I’ve got a shot with Val.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.” I shake my head. “Nico just left after giving me the talk about not screwing his sister. I’m sure that extends to you.”
“As if you had a chance with her,” he scoffs. “You barely spoke two words to her.”
“Focus, idiot,” I snap. “I need you to pull intel on this car.”
I slide the sedan photos across to him. He looks them over thoughtfully.
“It’s been circling our properties the last few days.”
“You think it’s Marchetti?” he asks.
“Could be.” I shrug. “Could be nothing. Your job to figure that out.”
“This better not just be busywork to keep me from Val,” he says, half-joking.
“Get out,” I groan.