Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Valentina
“The next time I see you, you will be my wife.”
I try to pull back, but Moretti is cupping my face between his strong hands, and he’s caressing my cheekbone with a callused thumb. “Not if I can help it.”
He chuckles, and there’s no humor in it. Just pure Mafia power and male certainty.
The last twelve hours have been horrible.
Moretti left me alone while he went out.
Of course, I’d been kept prisoner.
Once he was gone, I paced the confines of his room, aware of the horrible red eye in the corner tracking my every move.
Since there was no security feed in the bathroom, I took the time to soak in a long, hot bath. Not that I could relax, not even for a minute.
I was constantly on guard, expecting him to walk through the door at any moment.
But he didn’t.
For hours after, I was on guard, wrapped in his robe, looking out the window, watching the doorknob with my lapels clutched together.
Then, hoping he’d leave me alone like he had the previous night, I tried to sleep.
But no matter how long I lay there, I couldn’t get thoughts of him out of my mind.
I remembered the taste of him and my own, shameless reaction when he devoured me with a hot kiss at the bridal shop.
Then his hurtful, awful words that drove distance between us.
I should be grateful for that, maybe. Hating him is better than caring.
Then an image of his ring on my hand flashed into my memory, and the sight of the possessive gleam in his dark eyes.
With determination, I erected an emotional barrier between us.
But when he took me to eat at Le Jardin, he chipped at the edges.
Telling him about my mother softened me.
Though I didn’t want to hear anything about him, learning his father had loved to be out on the water had gotten to me.
In that instant, I saw Raffaele Moretti as more than just the head of a hated, rival family. And in my mind, Dante was an innocent kid, hair tossed by the wind, smiling without a care in the world.
The man made a mess of my emotions.
Sometime, I’m not exactly sure when, exhaustion overtook my frantic mind, and I drifted off to sleep.
I awakened with a start when he entered the room. Pretending to be asleep, I lay there, body rigid.
Though it was pitch black, he didn’t turn on a light. Instead, he stripped and crawled into bed next to me.
Without a word, he pulled me against him.
I refused to acknowledge him in any way, but that didn’t stop him from kissing the top of my head.
The tang of citrus still clung to him, softened a little by whiskey, and his cock pressed into me, as if he’d already taken me.
It wasn’t until I heard his breathing even out that I was able to settle down again.
And then, I’d fallen into a deep, nightmare-fueled sleep.
When I awakened, he was already dressed, wearing a suit and tie.
And damn him to hell, standing over me holding a cup of coffee that I’d sell my soul for.
The rich, full scent reached me before anything else. I knew it well. Espresso brewed the perfect way.
Reminded me of home, my mother, and the life I had foolishly believed was safe.
“Americano,” he said, the handle turned to me like a peace offering.
I scooted up and back.
Despite myself, I wanted the drink.
Still, I hadn’t thanked him.
After the first, rich, heavenly sip, I closed my eyes and kept them that way for a full thirty seconds. Anything to shut out reality for as long as possible.
When I finally looked at him, his lips were quirked.
Time seemed to freeze.
A moment of intimacy passed between us.
And it was so uncomfortable that I took a long sip, breaking the spell he held over me.
“Mrs. Henderson will be our coordinator.”
I blink. “Coordinator?”
“She found us a photographer. Arranged for flowers, a makeup person. All the things I’m told you’ll need.”
He thought of all that?
“No doubt wedding details were not at the top of your mind.”
Pointedly I look at him. “Or that I had any resources to take care of them, even if they were.”
Moretti lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Mine either. But I was set straight by my sister-in-law, Alessia.”
Matteo’s wife
“And my mother.”
For a moment, I almost smile. Big, badass Mafia enforcer turned underboss was schooled by the female members of his family.
I shouldn’t like this image as much as I do.
Before I can say anything else, he leans in and plucks the cup from my hands and sets it on the nightstand.
And now, with his hands on my face, the words, “The next time I see you, you will be my wife” hanging between us, I suck in a breath.
He rakes his gaze over my face, my chest, then lower.
“In the future, we’ll share a bed, and I won’t be such a gentleman.”
“Gentleman?” I scoff. The way his cock pressed into me was definitely not gentlemanly.
“I look forward to showing you what I mean.”
Though I attempt to scoot away from him, he tightens his grip, and his expression turns feral.
“Soon, Valentina. Soon” He brushes his lips across mine.
I despise the way my breath catches. “No…”
“Your mouth says one thing, but your body…” He traces a knuckle down the column of my throat, then between my breasts. “Oh, your beautiful body says another.”
With that, he releases me and steps back.
Bastard.
“There are clothes in the closet.”
More clothes? How does he keep doing this? “And you unlocked the closet? So generous.”
He doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he changes the topic. “Your escort will be here in an hour.” At the door, he pauses. “If you keep her waiting, there will be consequences.”
And maybe I don’t mind paying them.
One last time, he sweeps his gaze over me. “I’ll see you at the altar, my future wife.”
With that, he’s gone. Infuriatingly he clicks the lock back into place.
I exhale my frustration.
Then I finish the coffee. Extraordinarily good coffee, I note.
But it’s nowhere near enough.
Pulling the robe’s lapels together, I make my way to the door and knock on it like Moretti has been doing.
“Ma’am?”
The answer came faster than I expect. “I’d like more coffee.” I pause. “And breakfast.”
“Yes, ma’am. What would you like?”
Getting my needs met was this easy all along? Why the hell didn’t he say anything?
Then again, I’m Valentina Russo. And I’ve been far too compliant. I’ve allowed this, and I’m done.
Keeping my tone even, I say, “A bagel? A croissant?” Then I inject a friendlier note into my voice. “If that’s too much trouble, toast is fine.”
“We’ll see to it, ma’am.”
No doubt, they’re expecting me to attempt an escape as soon as I’m able. Thankfully the closet is unlocked, so I dress in a pair of his sweatpants and a hoodie. I’m better off barefoot than the only pair of shoes that I have.
Within minutes, there’s a knock at the door. “Please wait in the middle of the room, Ms. Russo.”
“Of course!” Like with the way I clocked Moretti with the lamp, I have exactly one chance to surprise them.
No doubt they’re expecting me to be behind the door.
So I’m standing exactly where they expect.
Outside, I hear the jangle of metal.
The door opens just enough for a soldier to enter, balancing a tray.
He’s young. Professional. Eyes forward, not curious.
Smiling, I thank him.
No doubt he’s not expecting that.
“Ma’am.” He sets the tray on the dresser with the kind of efficiency that tells me he’s done this before.
A pot of coffee.
Pure cream in a small pitcher.
A perfectly arranged Continental breakfast—croissant, sliced fruit, tiny jars of jam, a dish of butter.
Silverware is neatly folded in a linen napkin.
With a knife, no doubt.
My pulse jumps.
Then I see it.
Plastic.
Of course.
The soldier doesn’t linger. He steps back immediately, already walking toward the door.
That’s when I move.
Fast.
The linen napkin comes away with the knife still inside it. I spin, crossing the room in three quick strides, aiming straight for the narrowing gap of the door before it can close.
The soldier reacts instantly.
He doesn’t panic.
Doesn’t shout.
His arm simply comes up like a steel bar across the opening, blocking my path with calm, immovable certainty.
Behind him another soldier steps forward, equally composed.
No scrambling.
No raised voices.
Just practiced containment.
The first one takes the knife from my hand without even looking at it.
Then he folds the napkin neatly and sets it back on the tray.
I glare at him.
“Let us know if there’s anything else you need.”
The door closes again with a soft, final click.
The lock turns.
Outside, footsteps retreat.
For a moment, I stand there, breathing hard, staring at the door.
Then a voice filters faintly through the wall from the hallway beyond.
Moretti’s deep baritone is unmistakable. And the monster chuckles.
“Of course she made an attempt.”
I exhale again.
Since the moment I first set eyes on him, he’s been one step ahead of me. And that has to change. Starting now.
I look back at the tray.
The coffee steams gently.
My stomach betrays me with a low growl.
After a long moment, I pour a cup, and it’s every bit as wonderful as the one he brought me earlier.
The croissant I pick up is buttery and yeasty and warm. Impossibly it tastes homemade.
I’m tempted to start on a second when there’s another knock on the door. “Ten minutes, Ms. Russo.”
Instead of changing into the dress he has left for me, I remain in his sweats.
When my door is unlocked, I tip back my chin.
In between two massive, armed Moretti soldiers, I walk down the hall and toward my lifetime sentence.