Chapter Thirty-Three
Valentina
M atteo pulls on his clothes, kisses me, leaves his apartment, and disappears again.
When I get to Firenze for my shift that night, the unrest is palpable in the air. It’s there in the hushed conversations happening in the VIP rooms, in the furtive glances men throw at each other, in the thinner crowds and scared patrons. The Famiglia has been rocked by two unanswered attacks to their leadership and Matteo’s continued absence as he searches for his father doesn’t reassure them.
This has Thiago written all over it. Months ago, I accused my brother of not doing enough to find Adriana’s killer and now he’s decided to do the craziest thing possible and kidnap the Don of the Italian Mafia. I’ll have to apologize to him next time I see him.
As the days go by, Matteo’s absence wears on me. I want to ask him what he plans on doing if he finds his father alive. I want to ask how he feels about being interim Don in his absence, if it’s everything he dreamed it would be. I assume not, given the circumstances that gave him his crown.
If I knew where he was or if he’d even texted, I would ask all my questions. But he hasn’t.
Unlike last time when I simply missed him, now I’m pissed. He pressured me into pouring my heart out to him, into caring . Why would he do that if he planned on disappearing without a word for another week? He has a phone, he could use it.
On the eighth day of Matteo’s absence, around last call, Enzo bursts through the doors of the VIP lounge. My heart skips a beat the second my eyes land on him. He’s been with his cousin this whole time so if he’s here, Matteo can’t be far.
Whatever.
I’m going to play it cool.
“Enzo,” I hear myself call.
So much for that plan.
Enzo pauses at the sound of my voice and turns towards me. Stoic eyes watch me approach.
I don’t bother with hello, how are yous . He knows why I stopped him.
“Have you seen Matteo?”
My pride takes a hit having to ask him where his boss is, but behind the anger simmering inside me, there’s concern.
If he knows the cartel is behind the kidnapping, then he’s going after my brother and his men. I know exactly how dangerous they are, how merciless they’d be if an Italian crossed their paths, not to mention a Leone.
I need to know he’s okay, that he’s safe.
“Where— Is he…Is…” I swallow and fiddle with my hands. “Just tell me, is he alright?”
Enzo studies my features before speaking. “He’s fine.”
“Good,” I answer, wishing he’d tell me more. “That’s good.”
I bounce back and forth on my heels instead of walking away, trying to think of how to ask him when he thinks I’ll see Matteo again. I can’t quite find anything that doesn’t come off exceedingly pathetic.
Enzo watches me with a penetrative stare. Finally, he clicks his teeth in frustration and glances away.
“Matteo is now the interim Don until Augusto is found. If he’s found,” he says, and I don’t miss the upward curl of his lips that tells me he hopes he isn’t. “He’s been busy running the Famiglia and simultaneously looking for his father, that’s why he’s been gone.” He looks down and away, shifting uneasily. “He has other priorities now. Today, he was meeting with Marina and her family to make their engagement official and set a date for the wedding.”
Pressure explodes in my chest. It compresses my rib cage around my heart and lungs and mercilessly squeezes the life out of them both.
“Oh.” It’s more of an expulsion of air than an actual response, the sound heavy and gutted. “ Oh .”
One syllable somehow says it all.
As does the look Enzo levels at me, one that hovers suspiciously close to pity.
He did warn me.
You’ll watch someone else walk down the aisle to him .
The pang in my stomach is as disappointing as it is painful, like being ripped off of cloud nine and falling tens of thousands of feet to the ground. I guess the fun is over.
Just like that.
I didn’t expect it to feel like taking a knife right to the heart.
When Enzo places a comforting hand on my shoulder, the feelings that felt suspiciously like hurt and betrayal recede behind the anger and a burning need to get even.
“I’m sorry,” Enzo says.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” I pull my shoulders back. His hand drops by his side as I meet his gaze squarely on. “Thank you for letting me know.”
I walk away but instead of going back behind the bar, I head straight for the dancer’s changing room. If Matteo was off meeting his fiancée while I stayed home missing him, then he can kiss the precious rules he has for me goodbye. I won’t be made a fool of.
Digging into the communal pile of costumes, I pick one and head for the bathrooms, passing Aurora on the way.
“I saw you run out of the bar. What’s going on?” She follows me in. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Fabulous.” I slam the bathroom door closed behind me. “Couldn’t be better.”
“ Oooo -kay, you sound it. What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m going on for the final set tonight.”
I hear Aurora gasp on the other side of the door. “As in, you’re going to dance?”
Matteo said he had eyes on me at all times. Well then I hope those eyes see this.
“Yup.”
“Is that a good idea? Valentina ,” she whispers. “Matteo is going to lose his shit when he finds out.”
All I can think about as I pull the outfit on is that he made me talk about Adri, he made me tell him things I haven’t told anyone, he made me relive moments with her I’d long buried, only to push me aside in the same week without even giving me the courtesy of telling me.
So am I being vindictive? Yes. Is this immature? Yes.
But is it going to make me feel better? Also yes.
I slam the door open and walk out. Aurora’s mouth drops when she sees my outfit.
“He won’t care,” I say, heading to the mirror and applying my cherry-flavored lipstick.
That thought leaves a sick and sour taste in my mouth.
“Uh, he absolutely will, especially in that outfit. He’s going to set fire to this place with all of us in it if you go out there.”
Does Marina know about his phobia? Will she get rid of all the candles, matches, and lighters in her apartment? Is she going to be careful not to turn the stovetop on when he’s at her place? Or is that just me?
“Good thing he isn’t here to see it then.”
She’s gaping after me as I storm out.
I find Juliana about to go on stage. She was part of Arabella’s crew and I’ve kept my distance from her since.
“I’m taking your place,” I announce.
“What? No, it’s my turn!” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Anyway, I thought you didn’t dance anymore.”
“I’ll give you all the money I make. Just sit down, shut up, and enjoy the paid vacation.”
With that, I walk out on stage.
The initial notes of Juliana’s song come on. It’s not music I would have picked for myself, but I can work with it. Turning my back to the crowd, I start rolling my hips to the rhythm. Immediately, I hear the crowd get louder, appreciative whistles and lewd cheering flying from drunken mouths.
I’m about to drop down to my knees when a large body collides with mine, an annoyed grunt sounds in my ear, and I’m unceremoniously tackled off the stage.
I was up there for less than a minute.
“Juliana,” Enzo hisses at her over his shoulder, pinning me with his forearm against a wall. “Get the fuck onstage.” She blanches and scurries off without a word. “And you ,” he spits, turning his angry eyes on me. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”
“Maybe,” I snap, my temper frayed.
His eyes flash. “Well, I don’t . I’m the one the boss is going to skin alive if you shake your ass up on that stage, not you, so do me a favor—put some normal fucking clothes on and go the fuck home.”
He releases me with an angry little shove and starts to leave, but I grip his forearm and stop him.
“If he’s allowed to move on, then so am I.”
“You should be,” Enzo agrees, looking over his shoulder at me. “But the man won’t listen to reason where you’re concerned. Provoking him like this is a bad idea.”
“Then I guess he’s not prepared for his new reality.” I release his arm with an irritated huff. “He’s going to have to get very used to seeing me with men who aren’t him.”
Just like I was the one to approach him, I’m the one who walks away, taking with me a scrambled head, a confused heart, and more bitterness and anger than I possibly know what to do with.
???
I sit at my vanity for a while, staring at my reflection and those of the dancers as they bustle back and forth behind me. One by one, they make their way home until only Aurora and I remain. She gives me a silent hug, wishes me a good night, and then she’s off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Thoughts of Matteo and Marina consume me. I’ve never experienced jealousy like this before, the kind that feels like it’s rotting your insides and turning them black.
What makes it so much worse is the fact that I have no right to be mad at him. Not only has he always been honest with me, I also understand why he needs this engagement and eventual marriage. As much as the thought of it turns my stomach, I really do understand it. I would do the same if that’s what it took to secure my revenge and future.
But it still hurts.
And I’m still angry.
An icy chill rolls down my spine, making me close my white robe more tightly around myself. There’s no use sitting here any longer. I just need to go home, take a long hot shower, pour myself a gigantic glass of wine, and try to forget about my heartache by watching some Friends .
With a heavy sigh, I stand and start clearing up my station. I open the vanity mirror and put away the makeup, brushes, and wipes I used.
I close it and gasp, startled.
In the mirror, Matteo appears above my right shoulder as silently as a ghost.
“You asked for me, cara mia .”
I whirl around, expecting him to be an illusion that disappears once I do, but he’s well and truly there. Standing tall, formidable, and in the flesh before me.
Is that why he’s here? Because I asked Enzo about him?
“It is,” he answers.
I didn’t realize I’d asked the question out loud.
My cheeks heat and I turn scarlet. Matteo makes a small noise of contentment at the way I blush, then steps lazily towards me. He reaches out his knuckles, scrapping them gently over my cheeks.
He’s always touching my face, stroking his fingers along my cheeks, or brushing strands of hair behind my ear. I’m used to a man’s touch being exclusively sexual with me, but this isn’t that. This feels almost loving. Gentle and caring beyond the purely physical.
No wonder my head and heart are a mess. Every action of his is in complete opposition to the truth.
His fingers trail over my jaw, down my neck, and to my white robe where they trace the lines of the overlapping fabric on my chest. His touch is deceptively soft, but his fingers shake as they stroke my skin.
It’s a warning. A threat.
To mistake it for a caress would be foolish.
“It’s good to see you,” he utters in a strangled murmur.
His words carry an unmistakable weight, as if coming straight from his heart. Barely veiled beneath them however, there’s taut, tightly coiled anger. He’s seething with perfectly controlled rage, levelheaded only on the surface.
When his eyes slice to me, they’re as black as a shark’s on the hunt.
“Tell me, Valentina…”
His voice is thick with menace and something else, something like the remnants of what must have been a bad cold. Deranged possessiveness sends a thrill through me at the thought that he had a virus I gave him inside him when he met her.
I realize I may need to be institutionalized for that thinking.
Clearly, I’ve fucking lost it.
“Did you hit your pretty little head over the weekend and sustain some kind of major brain damage that made you forget I specifically forbade you from ever setting foot on a fucking stage again?”
I glare at him. “I didn’t.”
His jaw ticks. He hums, a low, dangerous rumble from deep within his chest. His finger still dances across the bare skin of my neckline, hovering alarmingly close to my throat.
“So you were in the mood to see just how far you could test my patience today?”
“No.”
Dark, livid eyes cut to me. “Then why?”
I tip my chin at him. “The rule no longer applies.”
“ Explain ,” he snaps, his temper breaking.
His voice is different now.
Deadly.
Emotionless.
“We’re done,” I announce, although the words nearly kill me. “The fun is officially over.”
A bone-chilling laugh leaves him, one so devoid of humor it echoes with pure madness alone. He smiles coldly, his teeth bared and sharp. “That decision is not yours to make.”
It wasn’t .
“And yet I made it,” I answer flippantly.
Matteo’s hand flies to my throat. All five fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze. A throttled vein I’ve never seen before carves itself down the middle of his forehead.
“Careful, cara ,” he warns, his mouth thinned down to a violent slash across his face.
An ache hollows out my chest seeing the tightness in his eyes. I harden my heart against it.
“Go be with your fiancée,” I snap.
“My—?” he frowns. “What the fuck does she have to do with anything? What did Enzo tell you?”
It’s my turn to laugh at the situation. So he was going to keep this a secret from me.
“He told me the truth, which you clearly weren’t planning on doing.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I warned you what would happen the second you touched her.”
Matteo’s features relax momentarily, the first sign of anything but frustration and anger since he walked in. His brow arches in surprise, his lips twitching with barely concealed satisfaction.
“Are you jealous?” he asks.
Anger snaps my spine straight until I feel every vertebrae lock into place. “No.”
“Really?”
“It’s a matter of respect , Matteo, that’s it. I won’t let you humiliate me.”
A testy rumble rolls through his chest. “So this is just about wounded pride? Nothing else?”
“That’s correct.”
His mouth finds the side of my face, his lips coming up to rasp against my ear, “You’re so full of shit.”
Surprise stiffens my whole body. he want me to be jealous of her? I shove him off me.
“Get out,” I snap, walking away.
The coldness of my tone surprises even me.
Matteo yanks me backwards by the back of my neck. “We’re not done talking,” he hisses. He locks his arms around me and traps me against his chest.
“We are done talking and we are done ,” I rage, the words clawing past the hurt blocking my throat. I struggle against him, thrashing in his hold, but he doesn’t budge. “Let me go.”
I feel his breathing go dangerously ragged against the side of my face. “No.”
“Let me fucking go , Mat—”
“I didn’t touch her!” The angry words erupt from deep within his chest.
I still. “What?”
“I didn’t touch her. I couldn’t bring myself to even fucking meet her, Leni.” He rips in an angry breath. “I had a meeting but I called it off, made up some excuse.” His chest rises and falls almost violently against my back. “It’s causing a massive shitstorm I have to fix, but I couldn’t meet her yet, not while you still inhabit every one of my dreams.”
This time, when I push against his arms, he lets me go. Slowly, taking my time to gather strength I know I’m going to need, I turn towards him.
His dark, sticky gaze is already glued to my face.
“If you didn’t want me to see her, if you missed me,” he murmurs. “You should have texted me.”
“I don’t own you,” I say flatly.
He blinks at me, a look of almost boyish confusion on his face. “Says who?”
His words are heavy with barely suppressed emotion. A girl could really believe he actually means them if she isn’t careful.
I shake my head. “Says your fiancée.”
Matteo closes the distance between us, his expression turning softer.
“You know why I’m still in London.” His hands find and claim my waist like I’m his possession, fingers digging desperately into my skin. “For you.”
“Fiancée.”
“She’s not my—”
I look away. “ Fiancée .”
Gently, he turns my cheek back towards him. His eyes seek mine, a quiet urgency lingering in them.
“You’re all I think about,” he confesses softly.
A choked sound crawls up my throat. “Don’t lie.”
He crowds me, his chest bumping against me, his face looming above mine. “I wish I was. All I think about is you. Constantly. Endlessly. Fucking, obsessively . How you looked laying in my bed when I left you, how badly I want you to make some arepas for me, how our limited time together is being robbed from us because of my father’s kidnapping.” His eyes squeeze shut and he drops his forehead to mine with a sigh. “I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night, every night, reaching for you.”