Chapter 6
Mario Luciano
I growl and slam my laptop closed again—I’ve watched her reaction to my gift an exorbitant number of times throughout the night—before almost yanking the fridge door off its hinges as I open it for a bottle of water.
She’s sulking like a child.
I expected more from her. She acts so bubbly and mature in social settings, but one mild scolding from her father and a harmless gift from me sent her into hysterics. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.
I twist the cap off my water. The plastic gives a satisfying crack. Cold water splashes over my hand and the tip of my loafers.
God, I hate this outfit, but blending in is the name of the game today. The polo shirt, tan slacks, and ugly-ass shoes belong on an old white bastard born with a silver spoon in his mouth, not a hardened mafia mercenary on the path of revenge.
I sigh and flick the drops off my hand before chugging the entire bottle. The icy liquid cools my throat and stomach but does nothing to dampen my rage.
Valentina will not ruin my plans. She can sulk, pout, and throw as many tantrums as she pleases; nothing will stop me from repaying them for their betrayal.
I check the time, grab another bottle of water, down it, and scoop my laptop into my bag before striding out of the kitchen.
Leaving the lights on since Noah programmed them to turn on and off automatically, I lock the front door, swing my bag onto my shoulder, and descend the steps as I scan the area.
When all seems normal for the mix of business and residential buildings, I stalk down the sidewalk to my car and eye the three townhouses with attached garages with envy.
Giorgio Vivaldi, the new don of one of the five New York City founding mafia families, bought them with a subsidiary company before I ever had a chance.
When I realized it was him behind the purchase, I backed off and found the next best option, which was a four-story brick townhouse several houses south.
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but with a little money—which I have plenty of—and a few months of TLC, I finished the basement and remodeled the inside to fit my needs. Whether it’s where I settle down or if it becomes a temporary living space, it will always be an asset in my robust portfolio.
I toss my bag into the back seat and drop behind the wheel of the luxury sedan I drove home last night.
After sending a quick text, I pull out of my parallel parking spot and fight my way through the busy streets, taking several detours to ensure I don’t have someone tailing me, and pull into the underground parking deck for several apartment buildings.
I park near the elevator but take the stairs up to the main lobby before scanning my badge and riding the VIP elevator up to one of the higher floors.
After several turns down the posh hallway, I type in the door code and slip into the apartment Noah spends most of his time in.
Although the place is spotless, I find proof he ate by the wrappers in the kitchen trashcan, and by the humidity and smell of body wash in the bathroom, he showered recently, too.
The fitness room has a blue mat on the floor that wasn’t here before and a sweat rag hanging off the pull up bar but is otherwise clean.
The bed in the guest room looks hastily made, but the master hasn’t been touched since the last time I was here a week ago. With a sigh, I drop my bag on the bed and choose an appropriate briefcase to swap my essentials into before carrying both in search of my right-hand man.
I find him sitting in front of the row of monitors in his office.
“Hey, boss. You’re looking… preppy today,” he teases.
I huff and prop my hip on his desk, knowing it annoys him. He tsks and leans back in his chair, putting distance between us as he gives me a mocking once-over.
I drop my bag in his lap and set my briefcase on the desk.
“You know, I can’t even be mad because that pose makes you look like you belong in those clothes. Have you ever thought of becoming a professor?”
Unbidden fantasies flash through my mind.
Valentina—as she is now, not from ten years ago—in a school uniform bent over a desk with her ass in the air and her tits pillowed on the cold surface. Or with her back against a blackboard and my hand around her throat. Or on her knees with my cock in her mouth.
I clear my throat and turn to the monitors to clear my thoughts only to see Valentina on the screen.
In her frilly nightgown with braids in her hair and a soft smile on her face, she sits on the loveseat in her hotel room as her father speaks into his glass of water. This happened the night before last.
“Why are you watching this again?” I ask.
Noah sighs and crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“It was the first time he went to her room after dark, and after you asked if they’d visited each other at night, I thought it was worth looking into. There’s something off about it,” Noah explains.
“He’s just scolding her for not sitting next to Romeo Yovanni during the Volkov-Vivaldi wedding,” I say.
“I don’t know. It looks like he’s threatening her, not reprimanded her,” Noah mumbles as he leans closer to his screen.
I scoff even as my hackles rise. I don’t like him watching her with such intensity, no matter the reason.
“Is there a difference in a family as fucked up as theirs?” I snarl.
“Maybe not.” He shrugs and sits back before quirking a brow at me.
“We’d know if you’d have let me upgrade the camera to one with sound, but I figured you had your reasons not to, so I didn’t.
” When he rubs his nape in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty, my senses sharpen.
“This is the first time you’ve left room for error since I met you.
Is there something you aren’t telling me? ” he asks.
I step forward and place a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t read too much into it, kid,” I say with a gesture to the screen.
“I didn’t change the camera because she’s not worth the time and effort.
She’s nothing but a spoiled princess.” When he eyes me skeptically, I sigh and squeeze his shoulder before grabbing my briefcase and heading toward the door.
“Don’t fall for her pretty face. She has two of them—and a forked tongue to match. ” I call over my shoulder to him.
I stop in the foyer with my hand on the front door handle.
“And I know you won’t listen, but I’ll say it anyway: it’s your place. Sleep in the master bedroom.”
His only response is a noncommittal grunt. I shake my head and step out into the hall, ensuring the door closes behind me and the lock engages before I make my way back to my car.
The drive to my next destination proves more tedious than the one before. I don’t bother to hide my disdain for the ritzy roads until I turn onto the lane to the country club.
With meticulously kept greens, rolling hills, and lush trees in the backdrop, the golf course offers an escape from the bustle of the city, but not the solitude of nature despite the beautiful scenery.
Groups of men with lazy strides and khaki shorts meander over the grass, their caddies following closely behind, while women with silicone enhancements, hair extensions, and weatherproof makeup caked on their faces cluster in golf carts and lounge under the umbrellas on the patio.
I pull up to the employee entrance, scan the ID card I acquired through nefarious means, nod at the guard who supports the manager who got it for me, and park at the back of the lot before grabbing my briefcase and stalking inside as though I belong.
No one bats an eye when I scan the fake employee card and disappear into the back halls toward the security office.
These guards give me dubious looks out of the corner of their eyes, but they nod and continue their duties without comment when I slip them each an envelope of cash, flaunting the other envelopes in my briefcase I have for them before I leave.
After locating Valentina and her father on the feeds, I watch their movements and mentally review the blueprint I studied of the building before pointing at the screens with the area I intend to visit.
The guards nod their understanding. I slip out of the room and traverse the halls to the selected spot.
I don’t have to wait long.
Like a breath of fresh air, Valentina turns into the hall in a light blue collared top, white skirt, and athletic shoes with her hair trailing behind her in a high ponytail. The moment she thinks she’s alone in the hall, the smile drops from her expression and the bounce leaves her steps.
She’s still sulking but won’t disgrace her father in front of the socialites.
Fury roars through me. I reach out, yank her into the empty conference room, press her against the wall with my bulk, and block her squeak of alarm with my palm.
She fights with the fury of a caught rabbit, wriggling and lashing out, but her strength is no match for mine. I lower my lips to the top of her head and murmur into her hair.
“Hush, paperotta . We wouldn’t want your daddy to scold you again, would we?”
She stills. Her ragged breaths puff from her nostrils, warming the back of my hand. I push her head back and meet her eyes.
For the briefest of moments, relief flashes across her features and she sags against the wall, but when she drops her guard, my muscles flatten her curves and her breasts pillow against my front. My cock hardens and prods her soft stomach.
An addictive mix of fear and fury fills her bottomless blue orbs before she schools her reaction and blinks up at me with vulnerable eyes.
Her duplicity pisses me off.
“What is it now, Valentina? Your father reprimanded you, so you’re going to lash out and use me to get back at him?”
Her brows scrunch, but no matter how genuine her confusion looks, I won’t fall for it. I dip my head so my lips brush against her temple.
“If that’s the case, why didn’t you wear my gift? You might have swayed me if you’d played along a little,” I taunt.
She shakes her head as much as my grip allows. I chuckle at how helpless she must feel. My hand easily covers the entire bottom half of her face.
Sharp pain spears into my palm. I hiss and pull my hand away from her sharp little teeth.
“Whatever happened between you and my father has nothing to do with me. Hurting me won’t hurt him,” she spits with such conviction I pause and study her.
The plea makes no sense. She’s the entire reason Pietro stabbed me in the back and left me for dead, and without her, his business would fail. She’s the driving force behind his success.
My incredulity gives way to amusement, and I decide to play along and see where she’s trying to go with this.
“Oh? Then what do you suggest?” I can’t hide the mockery from my tone. She swallows and glances around, whether to gather courage or appear uncertain, I don’t care. “What’s the best way to hurt daddy dearest?” I goad.
“I… I’ll choose you,” she stammers.
I press her harder against the wall and wrap my hand around her throat.
“What do you mean by choose , little girl?” I snarl.
“Whatever you want it to mean, so long as you promise not to hurt me.”
The little tremor at the end of her sentence is so well done I can’t help but marvel at her skill even as disgust rips through me. She’d sacrifice her father to save her own skin.
“What if I want to hurt you, paperotta ?” I snarl.
The slender column of her throat shifts against my palm as she swallows. I rub my thumb over her jugular, enjoying the leap of her pulse.
“I… what kind of hurt?” she whispers.
Stunned into silence at the raw emotion stacked in her tone and expression, I doubt myself for the first time since my best friend sunk his blade into my back a decade ago.
My rage returns tenfold when I realize I nearly let her dig her talons into my soul.
I tighten my fist around her throat, lift her onto her toes, grab her breast, and grind my cock against her softness.
“I’ll have you begging me to stop, but I won’t. You’ll be at my mercy, but I have none. I’ll only grow more savage with every bite and scratch you leave on my flesh,” I vow.
Her nipple pebbles against my palm and her entire body trembles against mine.
“But you’ll take me away from my father?” she asks.
Her response is too perfect. Too contrived. Too preposterous.
I drop her and step back as though she has the plague. She falls to the ground with a squeak and a thump.
I chide myself for almost playing right into her trap.
“I don’t need your help to destroy your father,” I growl.
Instead of picking herself up and stomping off in frustration, she lifts wide, confused eyes up at me.
My breath catches in my throat and unexpected longing spears through my hardened heart.
I yearn to coddle and soothe her.
Valentina Denaro is dangerous.
I can’t fall prey to her feminine wiles again.