Chapter 7 #2
As the family’s enforcer, I had plenty of meetings behind the closed door. And I’ve been in my fair share of trouble. Under my brother’s reign, even though I’m his second-in-command, it seems that not much will change.
As always, I silently acknowledge my father’s portrait.
I’ve done this for him. And I have no regrets.
I put down the tray on the sideboard.
But since everyone’s small cups are still full, I don’t lift the pot.
Matteo is behind the massive oak desk, elbows braced on the surface, fingers steepled. Dario lounges in a chair nearby, legs crossed. His eyes are alert, assessing.
After closing and locking the door, Nico stands with his back to a wall, like a sentinel.
“Proof-of-life call went through about an hour ago.”
I nod.
“Russo insists it was coerced.”
All gazes lock on my face.
I shrug. What else did they expect? That she’d call her daddy and be happy about it?
“She’s unharmed?” Matteo presses.
“You have my word.”
“Unlike you.” He nods toward my temple.
Reluctantly I press my fingers against the knot that has formed there.
No doubt there’s dried blood there too. Not that I give a fuck about that.
There are still cuts on my knuckles from a lesson I doled out last week.
Once an enforcer, always an enforcer, even if my oldest brother wants me to leave that kind of behavior for others. “She got in a lucky shot.”
The three of them exchange glances.
“No easy feat,” Dario observes. Maybe with a hint of admiration.
She attempts things no man would. And she succeeded where many have failed. I will not underestimate the Russo princess ever again.
“And your plan now?” Matteo leans back, eyes narrowed.
I meet his stare, unflinching. “I’m going to marry her.”
Silence echoes through the room, as powerful as a gunshot.
Resolute, I fold my arms. “She informed her father before I came over here.”
The words drop between us and detonate.
Matteo’s fingers whiten on the edge of the desk, and his eyes narrow with cold calculation. It’s the same intensity that he wears when he’s deciding whether to pull a trigger or let someone live long enough to regret their choices.
My pulse is a heavy, steady thud that travels down my sternum and settles low, where the memory of Valentina’s hips rocking against me still burns.
Dario lifts one eyebrow, but there’s no smirk this time. Just the sharp glint of a man who sees the ledger already bleeding red.
Nico doesn’t move. He never does when the storm is breaking.
But I feel the shift in him anyway—the way his shoulders settle a fraction tighter, the minute flex of his jaw.
His eyes stay locked on mine, reading every microtwitch of muscle, every breath I take. He already knows. Of course he knows.
Her call to Fabrizio happened close to an hour ago, and the consigliere network moves faster than blood through veins.
Matteo exhales through his nose, the sound rough. “You’re going to marry her.” The words come out flat, but I hear the blade beneath them.
I nod once. “Tomorrow.”
The room goes stiller.
Dario lets out a short, disbelieving breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He pushes to his feet, the chair rolling back with a low rumble across the hardwood.
I hold his gaze. My shoulders are tight, the muscles across my back locked in a rigid line. “This is the only way out.”
Much as they hate it, they know I’m right.
I kidnapped her.
News will travel.
And my actions have sent a powerful message to other families.
Don’t fuck with the Morettis.
Even though Raffaele has passed, we are a formidable force.
“I’ll allow her one emissary,” I continue, ignoring the way my voice has gone rougher. “Giovanni.”
Nico finally speaks. “St. Louis Cathedral.”
He’s reached the same conclusion I did.
When he speaks, his tone is quiet, measured, the way it always is when he’s already three moves ahead. “I’ll talk to the priest.”
I know what that means.
Father Thomas will ensure that the date on the marriage license accounts for the waiting period required by state law. “Two o’clock.”
Matteo rises from behind the desk. The movement is slow, deliberate, each inch of height he gains ratcheting the tension in the room higher. His palms stay flat on the oak for a moment longer, fingers spread wide, before he straightens fully.
The air between us feels thicker now, charged with the scent of old books and the faint trace of my mother’s espresso still steaming on the sideboard.
“You fucked up, Dante.”
I hold his stare.
I took the action required as the family’s former enforcer and current underboss.
“You think this ends the war?” Matteo’s voice is low, dangerous. “You think Fabrizio Russo is going to let his only daughter become a Moretti without burning half of Texas to the ground?”
“No one will fuck with our family again.” I answer. The words scrape out of my throat.
As if to defuse the tension, Nico fills the tense silence. “There are logistics.”
Dario drags a hand through his hair. “Like the fact you’re allowing a fucking Russo to attend. Giovanni’s not going to stand there and smile while you put a ring on his sister’s finger.”
“They will see the ceremony happen.” Hear her vows. See me claim her. Know that she belongs to me.
Anticipation crawls over my skin, prickling at the back of my neck, down my arms.
Every inch of me is attuned to her, even here, even now. And I ache to get back to her.
Matteo rounds the desk fully. He stops less than two feet from me, close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the exhaustion etched at the corners of his eyes.
“You’re underboss now. Not the enforcer who solves everything with blood.
You answer to this family.” His voice drops. “To me.”
“Understood.”
Dario mutters something under his breath about war and money and stupid fucking decisions, but I barely hear him.
The truth is, I don’t know how to stop wanting her. Not now. Not after the way her body melted against mine. Not after the way she looked at me when I pulled back from that kiss—flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark with the same hunger that’s eating me alive.
My focus has narrowed to the heat in my blood, the relentless throb between my legs, the way every breath pulls in the ghost of her scent. I want to be inside her. Want to pin her to that bed and fuck the defiance out of her until she’s sobbing my name and coming around my cock.
Matteo studies me for another long moment. Then he exhales, the sound heavy. “Tomorrow. Arrange for security.”
Even though it’s my wedding, I would never hand off my obligations as the underboss.
Protecting the family is now my responsibility.
“Talked to Nash on the way over.” And I told the man to assign a team of female soldiers to protect Valentina.
After all, it’s my job—my responsibility—to ensure her safety from here forward.
“Hear this clearly.”Matteo’s eyes lock on mine. ”If she runs, if she fights, if this costs us even one soldier, you will answer for it.”
As expected.
“We’ll meet again later.” With a nod, I turn to exit the room.
Inside, everything is roaring. The revenge that started this is still there, cold and sharp.
But layered over it, tangled tight with it, is something hotter.
Something alive. Something that tastes like Valentina’s surrender and sounds like the soft, broken sound she made when my tongue slid against hers.
Valentina Russo is mine.
Tomorrow she’ll wear my ring.
And God help us both, I can’t wait to make her feel every second of her surrender.