Chapter 28 Beatrice
BEATRICE
Afew days later…
I step outside into the late morning light, the breeze catching the edge of my coat and fluttering it like a whisper.
Valerio stands by the car in his usual black, posture sharp, sunglasses hiding everything except that relentless stillness. I swear the man does nothing but brood. I don’t think he has any other emotion.
“Well, well, what a pleasant surprise. The great Valerio has been summoned,” I tease as I walk toward him.
Over the years we’ve become good friends, at least from my side.
“I thought I was getting a driver today.”
He doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth shifts. “You are. He’s just very well-armed and annoyingly handsome.”
He steps forward and kisses both my cheeks in greeting. I catch the faint scent of spice on him, mixed with jasmine and vanilla.
When I pull back, I give him a look. “I didn’t know you were a fan of vanilla.”
One side of his mouth tilts upward. “It’s all the rage in Paris, apparently.”
We both know exactly what that means—the scent of a woman. What else can you expect from Valerio? Manhattan’s resident Casanova.
“What?” he says, shrugging. “Don’t give me that look, principessa. She was from Paris.”
“Charming. You do know there will come a time when you have to say goodbye to your Casanova ways and settle down, right?”
He rolls his neck, joints clicking. “Hell would have to freeze over before I commit to a woman. And besides, there isn’t a single one I want.”
I move past him toward the car door. “I find that hard to believe. There are billions of women in this world. You’re telling me not one has caught your eye? Not one has captured your attention?”
I glance over my shoulder—and he’s staring at me. Really staring. With the kind of piercing precision all these mafia men carry.
“No, not one,” he says lowly.
He steps forward and opens the door for me to get in. “Let’s go, Beatrice.”
Something flickers in his eyes, but I don’t press. Valerio is not exactly the open up and spill your heart type. I step forward—until his hand darts out, fingers curling gently around my elbow.
“Wait.”
He pulls out a small journal—leather-bound, deep burgundy, elegant and understated. My initials, B.D., are embroidered along the spine in gold thread. It’s beautiful.
“I remembered you said you used to write at night to get your thoughts out,” he says. “Figured you might want to start again. Happy belated birthday, principessa.”
I blink, caught off guard. “You got me a gift?”
He scoffs. “Don’t look so shocked, Bea. I’m not a total heartless troll who can’t be nice.”
“Thank you. That’s… really thoughtful.” I run my fingertips along the leather, feeling the grain, the weight, the care behind it.
“You’re welcome.” He steps back with a mock scowl. “Don’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t want to ruin my brooding, not-nice persona.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “You? Nice? Never.”
His eyes flash with amusement as I turn and climb into the car. I slide into my seat, heart lighter than it’s been in weeks. I tuck the journal into my bag, resting my hand over it like it’s something sacred.
Because maybe it is. My life is filled with expensive luxury, but the simple things—like this—are the ones that mean the most.
Valerio gets in the front and glances at me through the mirror. His eyes flick to my neck as I take off my scarf. When I meet his gaze, he quickly looks away.
“That necklace,” he says, almost absently. “It’s the Davacalli necklace.”
I look down at the small pendant. “It is. Matteo gave it to me years ago. It’s a family heirloom passed down from one Davacalli woman to the next.”
His jaw twitches, but he says nothing. Just nods once, starts the engine, and pulls away from the house.
We drive in silence all the way to the spa, a gift from my husband. With the new collection looming and New York Fashion Week around the corner, stressed doesn’t begin to cover what I feel.
Valerio parks in the lot and steps out, letting me exit the car.
“Enjoy being pampered, principessa,” he says, settling back into his seat with his phone in hand. “And remember—your panic button. On your phone.”
I nod. But just as I’m about to close the door, I pause and look back at him.
“Is there something going on?”
His brows pull together, expression unreadable behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Why would you ask that?”
“You’re shadowing me,” I say plainly. “Matteo only asks you to shadow me when he’s out of town or when there’s a threat. And he’s on the Upper East Side—thirty minutes from here. So what is it?”
I don’t want to jump to the worst-case scenario, but history has a way of haunting me. If something has resurfaced, I need to know. I deserve to know.
“I requested to be on your security detail today,” he says.
Liar.
“Why?”
He blinks once. “For all your yapping and intrusive questioning, Beatrice, I actually enjoy your company. And I wanted to give you your gift personally.”
I smack my lips together loudly. I don’t buy that for a second. “Oh. That’s… unlike you.”
“You don’t know a whole lot about me, Bea.”
And he’s right—I don’t. But I’ve lived in this world long enough to recognize when something in the air shifts. When danger moves before it speaks.
“Don’t overthink it,” he adds. “Go in. Enjoy your rest and relaxation. I’ll be right out here.”
I stay exactly where I am.
“Valerio,” I say quietly, “over the years we’ve grown to be friends, correct?”
He nods once.
“And as friends, we don’t lie to each other. So you would tell me if something was going on… right?”
Another nod.
“So,” I shift my weight, holding his gaze, “is there something I should know?”
“Regarding?”
I stare at him, unamused. “Regarding my safety.”
“You are safe, Beatrice,” he says, tone steady. “You don’t need to worry.”
It’s not an answer, not really. But that’s how Valerio works. When he doesn’t want to give information, he responds with smoke and fog. Not lies… but never full truths either.
“Fine. You don’t have to tell me,” I quip and shut the door, irritation prickling under my skin. I don’t want to act like a child, but I hate when they keep me out of the loop.
I walk into the spa, trying to shake off the gnawing feeling clinging to me like a shadow. The last thing I want is the ghost of my past resurfacing again. We barely survived his last resurgence.
The spa smells of eucalyptus and roses. Soft music hums low—piano notes that seem to breathe rather than play. Warm light spills across the marble floors, flickering from tiny candles set in glass bowls.
Peace. This is why I’m here. The chaos of Giacomo can wait at the door.
I let myself be undressed, pampered, scrubbed, soaked—slowly melting into the sweet ambiance of tranquility.
When it’s over, I sit alone in the lounge with a cup of tea at my side, and my journal and pen in my lap.
I open to the first page and ready my pen. I don’t know where to start. Too many emotions buzz beneath my skin. But once I begin, the ink seems to pull the thoughts out of me.
‘The spa was exactly what I needed today. I feel refreshed and ready to take on the next two weeks. But I can’t help feeling like something is looming in the shadows. I’ll need to address it with Matteo when I get home. No more secrets—that was our promise. I want the full truth.’
I pause, thinking.
‘Valerio got me this journal. I’m thankful for it. I can’t believe he’d actually do something like this for me—the ice man really does have a heart. But I can’t let anyone know, or I’ll ruin his brooding bad-boy persona.’
I smile slightly and close the cover. I place it back into my bag, reach for my tea, and sip slowly. I lean back into the lounge chair and melt into the soft cushions.
I want to believe all is well. Stillness lies. It always has.
I step out into the afternoon light feeling lighter than I have in weeks. My muscles are loose. My head is clear. Even the ache behind my eyes has dulled to something manageable.
Valerio waits near the car, leaning against the driver’s side like he has nowhere else to be. In another life, this man could’ve been a model. His gaze sweeps the parking lot, hawk-like, missing nothing.
He’s always watching. Nothing gets past him—and that’s exactly why he’s so damn good at his job.
“I feel like a brand-new woman,” I say as I approach. “Whatever they did back there worked. I feel amazing.”
“You do look a little less dead,” he says. “Miracles do happen.”
“Ha. Hilarious,” I drawl.
He opens the door for me. I step forward—
BOOM.
The world detonates.
A truck three cars down erupts in a violent bloom of fire and metal. Heat slams into me like a freight train. Glass explodes overhead. The ground vanishes.
I’m airborne before I understand what’s happening.
I hit the pavement hard, breath ripped from my lungs, ears screaming with a high-pitched shriek that drowns out everything else. Somewhere, people are screaming. Somewhere, metal is still twisting and collapsing. I can’t tell where any of it is coming from.
Everything blurs. Flashes. Spins.
Smoke burns down my throat. I cough, sharp and wet, tasting ash and blood. My hands scrape uselessly against the concrete as I try to push up, but my arms shake, weak and uncooperative. My vision doubles. Then triples. Nothing holds still.
I turn my head and see Valerio a few feet away. Blood pours from a gash above his brow. He’s dragging himself toward me, palm stretched out, panic etched into his face.
“Bea—”
The sound barely reaches me. His mouth keeps moving, but the ringing won’t let the words through.
The heat is too close. The smoke is choking. My lungs fight for air that won’t come fast enough. I blink hard, my vision fracturing at the edges—
And then he’s there.
Valerio throws his body over mine, shielding me from falling glass, from whatever chaos is still tearing through the parking lot. My cheek is pressed to the ground, his weight crushing me protectively.
Are there more explosions? I don’t know. Fear locks my body in place, heavy and paralyzing.
The next minutes break apart into fragments.
Flashing lights. Shouting. Someone pulling at my arm, asking if I can stand. I nod, though my body feels disconnected, like I’m watching this happen to someone else.
Valerio is yelling now, refusing a stretcher, blood smeared across his face. When his eyes find mine, they’re wide with guilt. With knowing.
Cold dread slides through me, slow and inevitable.
It’s him.
They load us into the ambulance. Oxygen over my face. Ice pressed to my skin. Voices asking questions I may or may not answer correctly. My heart won’t slow.
As the doors begin to close, I see him.
Standing at the edge of the crowd. Still. Watching.
Ice-blue eyes lock onto mine. A calm smile curves his mouth, satisfied. My heart spikes so violently the EMTs panic.
“Ma’am?” Her voice sounds far away.
I don’t look at her. I can’t.
I watch him mouth the words, hear them inside my skull like a promise.
Ciao, cara mia.
Giacomo.