Chapter 18 Valentino
I’m at lunch with my best friend, Marco Benedetti, when her text lands. I excuse myself to check my phone, and a soft curse escapes my lips as I open the text then check the pin.
Naomi is in Tribeca, less than twenty minutes away by foot from where I am in Little Italy. And she’s alone.
I’m suspicious at first. She’s never on her own lately, that blonde always her shadow wherever she goes. Anya Brennan is a shark, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find she’s been hired to stick to Naomi so Joel Smith can check her every move.
So, I text back in code.
Me: What’s not on the menu?
Naomi: Liver
Her reply is erased a few seconds later. That’s our code. Someone else won’t know what to reply seeing it’s an inside joke, plus she deletes the text so there’s no record in our thread.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Now what have you gotten yourself into?” Marco asks.
I sit back as a waitress appears to take our plates away and leave espressos on the table. We’re at his uncle’s restaurant. His mother, Renata, was my mother’s best friend in Italy. When Mamma married my dad and came here, Renata came along, bringing her brother Claudius with her. My father funded his business, and ever since, this has been my family’s go-to for every occasion. Birthdays, Luciano’s wedding dinner, Luka’s christening lunch. Then Mamma’s wake, Eliza’s funeral brunch, and more recently, my dad’s burial dinner.
Too many bad memories lately. We need to make some good ones anew.
“She’s new here?” I ask once the waitress leaves. She had eyes only for him.
He nods. “Didn’t get the memo I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
I smile. Marco is what anyone would call a pretty boy. Foppish black hair, big blue eyes, the body of a male sports model. There’s just enough ruggedness on his features for him not to pass for an ephebe. Whenever I’m with him, I melt in the shadows, because people, and women in general, notice him and stay stuck on him. Another man might feel emasculated, but I like the relative anonymity I get in his presence.
Marco nods at my phone. “So?”
He’s relentless, which is both a strength and a curse. Marco’s one of the few men I trust outside of my brothers. He’s a soldier for our Borgata, like his father before him, but to me, he’s more. We were born a month apart, sharing cribs, playpens, bunk beds, then the same dorm room at college. He’s the person closest to me in the world.
And I can’t get away with fibbing where he’s concerned.
I sigh. “So, I did something.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s either stupid or brilliant.”
Definitely the latter. Though maybe both?
“What’s her name?” Marco asks.
I sputter a little. “How’d you know it’s a woman?”
“Lucky guess,” he answers in a droll tone.
He’s right. I never get worked up.
“Naomi Smith,” I say softly.
Marco’s eyes grow wide. “Fuck!”
I wince. “It was more than that.”
“You cazzo! You know her father has it in for you. And he’s going to be Governor soon.”
There. That’s why I didn’t say it aloud before. Because this is indeed the reaction anyone in my entourage will have when I mention I got involved with Joel Smith’s daughter.
“And you know that’s just a steppingstone to becoming Senator. And then, he’ll really be coming—”
“Yes. I know,” I say, stopping his tirade.
“Fuck, man. What were you thinking?” He pauses, eyes narrowed on me. “You weren’t thinking. It was your dick doing all the work.”
I sigh. “Not that I’m saying it is, but that’s never happened to you?”
“Touché.” He nods, as if to concede. “Okay, so it started with your dick, and now it’s what?” He frowns. “Don’t tell me you lost your heart.”
I shake my head. “One day, stronzo, I really hope I’ll make you eat those words.”
“Fuck me! You lost your heart?”
“No.” I haven’t. Not yet anyway.
“So, it’s still your dick doing the talking.”
“Merda, Marco. I’m serious.”
He has the decency to stop taking the piss. “What’s going on? That’s her on the phone?”
I nod. “She’s in Tribeca. Wants us to meet.”
“You’re sure it’s her?”
“Positive.”
“Need backup?”
I appreciate how he’s gone into soldier mode. I gave Carlito the afternoon since I planned to spend lunch here then attend to some business with an associate over in Nolita. I’ll reschedule. I can’t let the chance of meeting Naomi pass me by.
“You’re packing?” I ask.
He nods to the kitchens. “I can find something. You?”
“They can double down?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
We’re leaving the restaurant five minutes later each with a semi-automatic tucked in the waistband of our pants at the small of our backs. Marco brought his Ducati. I was going to walk. I hate getting on the backs of these things—it feels like I’m sitting on a cloud waiting to get ejected. But I bear down as he hands me a spare helmet, and we start towards the address Naomi sent.
He stops the bike in a small alley accosting the nondescript building which might’ve been a warehouse in the past. I push the back door open and do a quick sweep. It looks empty. I nod at Marco then go in, punching in the code Naomi sent. The elevator starts up, crawling to the loft apartment on the top floor.
I have to blink and catch my breath when I push the metal accordion-style door open. Because there, bathed in the sunlight flooding the place from the wide industrial windows, stands Naomi like an angel of light. She’s wearing pants and a cashmere sweater in pale pink, delicate flats on her feet.
I’ve barely taken a step inside when she’s rushing to me and smacking into my chest. It’s all I can do to wrap my arms around her and brace my hip against the wall to not fall from the velocity of her crashing into me.
She wraps her arms tight around me, and as I breathe in the lavender scent of her hair, something feels off. I tear myself from her and peer down into her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She gulps, then shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Naomi,” I warn softly.
“I missed you, that’s all.”
I can’t help but feel there’s more she’s not telling me, but there’s no hiding the rawness in her voice when she says she missed me. And Lord did I miss her, too. It feels like I can suddenly breathe, like her scent opened up my airways and I can now get decent oxygen in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “What is this place?”
“It’s safe. Belongs to a friend. Someone we can trust.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I hold her to me with one arm while I sweep the place with my gaze. A bedroom opens off the living room to the side, and there seems to be a bathroom adjoining the open-plan kitchen to the right. If someone’s hiding here, they won’t have much space to do it. Plus, it’s a keyless property—no one can come up without the code.
I let out a breath, and my shoulders drop. I pull Naomi to me and drop a kiss onto her temple.
“Give me a minute,” I ask, retrieving my phone to text Marco.
Me: Del Piero.
Marco: 10:10?
Me: Si.
Marco: Angels be with you.
I can faintly hear his bike start up below. He knows I’m safe, having just exchanged our code. Mamma and Zia Renata were huge into astrology and all that woo-woo stuff. Whenever we’d see 10:10 on a clock, they’d say it was a sign we had angels on our side. Alessandro Del Piero wore the Number 10 jersey at Juventus, and this became an inside track between me and Marco.
I smile and tuck the phone back in.
“Everything okay?” Naomi asks.
I nod. “Everything’s fine. Come here.”
I open my arms to her, and she wastes no time rushing into them. She crashes into me, and then our mouths are also crashing together, seeking, taking, tasting. Dio, I missed her.
We fall into a tumble on the bed. Half of her sweater is off, and I tug it off her as she divests me of my shirt and pushes the shirt, jacket, and coat off me in the process. She’s expedient, gotta give her that, and hungry for me, just like I hunger for her. Her bra is off, and my hand is closing on a heavy globe, my mouth now seeking the pebbled nipple so I can suck on it. She tastes delicious, but I need more. I push her onto her back on the bed and scramble off, reaching for the waistband of her pants to undo the button and zipper so I can pull it off her, get her panties off in the process, too.
I grab her calves and tug her until her butt is on the edge of the mattress, then my hands are flat on her inner thighs and pushing them wide open so I can sink my mouth onto her sex.
She’s already wet and gleaming, eager for my cock, but I have to taste her first. I lap at her slit—it feels like my mouth is flooding with ambrosia. I need more, so much more. She’s writhing under me, needing the pleasure I can give her, and I concur. My mouth latches onto her clit as I slip a middle finger inside her channel, then add my index as well when I feel she’s ready. As I suckle her nub, I curl my fingers a little inside her, looking for the ridge of her pelvic bone, seeking…this, the little protrusion of flesh that drives her crazy.
Indeed, she arches off the bed with a keening moan. I smile against her clit, then accelerate the efforts of both my tongue and fingers to stroke her in both places at the same time, using the same rhythm, until she shatters under me as she cries out my name.
It’s a delight to detach from her and watch her coming down from her high. God, she’s beautiful. Her mouth is plush, lips softly parted. I have a vision of them wrapped around my cock, and I waste no time to divest myself of my pants and getting onto my knees on the bed. One hand sneaks under her head as I lift it up while my other hand guides my hard shaft past those lips.
Fuck, she’s so warm in there. My hand fists into her hair, setting a rhythm wherein I fuck her delicious mouth with short, rapid thrusts. When my balls tighten and I feel I’m about to come, I pull out. Naomi whimpers her deception, but I don’t pay this any heed. She’ll get her pleasure very soon. In all the times I’ve had her, I’ve never taken her from behind, and today, that’s all I can think of.
I roll her onto her front, press her arms out and flat into the mattress as I use my knee to part her legs. As soon as she’s stretched wide, I lower my body onto hers and sink my cock into her pussy.
She grips me differently from this angle. Tighter, hotter, like a vise closing in on my throbbing manhood. It takes just a few pushes for me to sail off into one of the most blistering orgasms I’ve ever had. At the same time, I’m aware she hasn’t come yet, so I sneak a hand underneath her belly and seek her folds, pressing my fingers onto her clit and rubbing until she crashes from her climax, too.
Spent, I let myself fall onto her, though I’m careful to brace most of my weight on my forearms to not crush her under me. Our breathings are erratic. My heart is hammering away in my chest. I don’t know for how long we stay like this, until Naomi lets out a giggle.
“What?” I mumble.
“Someone’s very happy to see me,” she says on another soft laugh.
I move, my hard-again cock bumping against her ass. “Hmm, he really is.”
“We can’t let his happiness not be rewarded,” she says.
I nuzzle her neck. “Agreed.”
She rolls onto her back and kisses me, and I lose myself in her again.
I’ve taken her two more times when we finally call it a day, really spent this time as we lie in bed on our backs with our bones like liquefied jelly.
I know we both have to go back to reality, but I want to savor a few more moments with her. I’d say she feels the same way, too.
Until the decision gets wrenched out of our hands. It sounds like the metal door of the elevator opening. I jump to my feet, finding my pants and tugging them on. It’s dark inside; we forgot to turn on the lights.
“Stay here,” I tell her as I grab the gun and check there’s a bullet in the barrel. Naomi’s eyes grow wide when she sees what I’m clenching, but I don’t have the time to soothe her right now. Danger might be right in the next room.
I’m cursing myself as I move stealthily to the open doorway of the bedroom. The lights come on in the living room, and I frown. Someone sent to hurt us would prefer the cover of darkness.
“Naomi?” a female voice calls out.
I turn to Naomi, eyebrows raised. She quickly gets out of the bed, the sheet tucked around her as she reaches my side.
A shadow falls onto us, and I cock the gun as I turn around to face the person who’s just arrived.
I frown when I see her. “Anya Brennan?”
“We can trust her,” Naomi says.
I turn to her slightly without releasing my aim on the newcomer. “Your father’s PR person? Are you out of your mind?”
Anya has the gall to chuckle. “Naomi Smith, you dark horse. When I told you to invite your guy over, I thought you’d be seeing some milquetoast young lawyer or something.” She whistles softly. “But of all the men possible, it’s Valentino Andretti.”
She’s in PR, of course she knows who I am—it’s a requirement of her job to know of everyone worth knowing in the world she circulates in. I know who she is because we’ve identified everyone who’s in Joel Smith’s entourage.
“You can get that out of my face, Andretti,” she says, nodding to the gun.
I narrow my eyes. “No.”
Gotta hand it to her, the woman has balls of steel. She now has the audacity to roll her eyes at me as she clearly shows me the phone in her hand then starts texting someone.
“What has her father promised you if you find us in a compromising position?” I ask.
“Relax. I don’t work for her father.” She’s still typing, not glancing at me as she speaks.
“What do you mean?” Naomi asks.
I’m wondering the same thing.
She tucks the phone back into her purse, then pulls out a sleek laptop that she places on the coffee table. “You’ll meet with my employer soon. In the meantime, I suggest you both get dressed?”
The raised eyebrow speaks of effrontery, but if the sight of a gun didn’t faze her, nothing will. I nod to Naomi to do as she said, and we both get dressed quickly then emerge into the living room.
Anya glances up at us. “Well, it’s obvious you’ve both just been thoroughly fucked, but maybe that can help explain your relationship to my employer.”
“Who is…?” I prod.
“You’ll see.” She motions to the couch.
When we both sit down, she turns the opened laptop our way then taps the keyboard. A window pops up. It’s a video call, showing an elaborate office appointed in leather and dark wood.
Naomi and I are both squinting at the backdrop, and it’s obvious it’s a place neither of us recognizes.
Then a man slides into the executive chair. He’s older, early fifties maybe. He has a lean, pale face, striking grey eyes, and fair hair that looks neither blond nor silver.
I frown. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t place it.
And then he speaks, and it suddenly dawns on me. It suddenly makes sense.
“Hello, Naomi,” he says with a small smile. “My name is Declan Reeves. I’m your uncle.”