Chapter 5 Valentino #2
"Of this. Of how much I want it even though I know I shouldn't. Of the fact that I'm standing in a criminal's penthouse having breakfast like this is normal." I looked back at the city. "I became a journalist to expose people like you. And now I'm sleeping with you."
"I'm trying to be less like 'people like me.'" He turned to face me fully. "You make me want to be better. Want to be someone who deserves this."
"You're going legitimate. The business restructuring."
"Because of you. Partly." He caught my hand. "Before you, I didn't care if we stayed in grey areas. It was just business. But now..." He paused. "Now I want to be someone you don't have to investigate. To be ashamed of being with."
The admission hit hard. "I'm not ashamed—"
"You should be. I coerced you. Threatened your career. Used power and control to get what I wanted." His voice was rough. "I'm trying to be someone different. But I need you to believe that's possible."
I turned to face him, studying his expression. Looking for lies or manipulation. But all I saw was honesty. Raw and uncomfortable and real.
"I want to believe it," I said quietly. "I want this to be real. But Luca—"
"What?"
I'd been holding this in for a week. Ever since that phone call the morning after our office encounter. I'd convinced myself I didn't owe him the information. That if he'd really given me freedom, I could choose what to share.
But if we were doing this—really doing this—I couldn't keep secrets.
"There's something I need to tell you," I said. "From last week."
His expression shifted. Became more alert. "Okay."
"The day after... your office. After we first..." I struggled with how to phrase it. "That Saturday. I got a phone call."
"From?"
"FBI Agent David Reeves."
Luca went very still. "When?"
"Saturday afternoon. The morning after we—after our first time." The words came out in a rush. "He said he wanted to meet. Asked about my recent work, specifically the Rodriguez exposé. Then asked if I had any professional relationship with the Vitale organization."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I have many sources. That I don't discuss my sources. That we could meet through official channels." I met his eyes. "I deflected. But he knows something. Or suspects something."
"And you're telling me this now? A week later?" His voice was controlled. Too controlled.
"I didn't know if I should tell you at all." The honesty felt like ripping off a bandage. "You'd just offered me freedom. Said I could walk away. I didn't know if I owed you that information if I was actually free."
Luca turned away from me, gripping the balcony railing. I watched the muscles in his shoulders tense. Saw him processing. When he spoke again, his voice was tight.
"You sat on this for a week."
"Yes."
"While I was trying to prove I meant what I said about giving you a choice. While I was making my apartment welcoming and ordering your favorite food and trying to be someone you could trust." He turned back to me. "You were keeping this from me."
"I was protecting myself." My voice came out defensive. "I didn't know what telling you would mean. Didn't know if you'd use it as an excuse to take back the freedom you offered."
"Is that what you think of me?" His eyes were dark. Hurt. "That I'd use your honesty against you?"
"I don't know! We've been in a real relationship for approximately twelve hours. Forgive me for not knowing how to navigate this."
We stared at each other, the tension thick between us. The first real conflict in our tentative relationship and we were already stumbling through it.
Luca ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to get his emotions under control. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer.
"You're right. We're figuring this out. But Valentino—" He stepped closer. "If we're doing this, if we're really trying to build something, we have to tell each other things. Especially threats. The FBI investigating you is a threat to both of us."
"I know that now." I wrapped my arms around myself. "I was scared. Of what telling you would mean. Of what it would make me if I ran to you with information like some kind of informant."
"You're not an informant. You're—" He stopped. "What are we? To each other?"
The question hung between us. What were we? Not just an arrangement anymore. Not quite boyfriends. Something undefined and complicated and terrifying.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I know I don't want to keep secrets from you. And I know that if we're going to make this work, we need to trust each other."
"Then trust me with this. With the FBI. With Reeves." He pulled me into his arms and I went, needing the contact. "We handle it together."
"How?"
"First, tell me everything. Exactly what he said, how he said it, what his tone was. I need to know what we're dealing with."
I pulled back enough to look at him. "You want to control this. Handle it your way."
"Of course I do. My instinct is to make him back off, threaten him if necessary, eliminate the problem." He met my eyes. "But I'm asking you what you want to do. Because that's what partners do."
The word "partners" made something warm bloom in my chest.
"I want to meet with him," I said. "Find out exactly what he knows. What his angle is."
"That's dangerous."
"I know. But I'm a journalist. I know how to navigate interviews with hostile subjects. And if he's investigating my connection to you, I need to know how much trouble I'm in."
Luca was quiet for a long moment. I could practically see him fighting his instincts to control, protect, manage the situation himself.
"Okay," he said finally. "You meet with him. But I'm having security follow you. Not to control you—to protect you. If Reeves is building a case, I need to know you're safe."
"That's fair." I leaned into him. "Thank you. For trusting me."
"Thank you for telling me. Even if it took a week." He kissed the top of my head. "No more secrets, okay? Even the scary ones. Especially the scary ones."
"Okay. No more secrets."
The intercom buzzed, announcing the arrival of our breakfast. Luca extracted himself reluctantly and went to deal with it. I stayed on the balcony, processing what had just happened.
Our first conflict. Our first test of this tentative trust. And we'd actually communicated through it instead of him controlling and me resenting.
Maybe this could actually work.
Breakfast was spread across the dining table when I came back inside. Bagels, lox, cream cheese, fresh fruit, orange juice. Simple food but clearly from somewhere expensive based on the presentation.
We sat across from each other and ate in comfortable silence for a while. The tension from the balcony had dissipated, replaced with something calmer. Understanding maybe.
"When did Reeves say he wanted to meet?" Luca asked.
"He emailed Tuesday asking for this week. I told him I could do it next week, buying time."
"Smart. Gives us time to prepare." He took a bite of bagel. "I'll have Emilio brief you on what to say. He's with our law firm—best in the business. He'll make sure you don't accidentally incriminate yourself or me."
"Your lawyer. The one who defended you during the RICO trial?"
"No, that was Diana. Emilio is with Sandro. He's good. You can trust him." Luca paused. "And Valentino? If this gets serious, if Reeves actually tries to build a case, you need legal representation. Let Emilio represent you."
"I can't afford—"
"I'll pay for it." He held up a hand before I could protest. "Not as a way to control you. As a way to protect you. If you're in legal trouble because of your association with me, I'm responsible for making sure you have the best defense."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain my independence. But he was right—if the FBI came after me, I'd need real legal help. And I definitely couldn't afford the caliber of lawyer Luca employed.
"Okay," I said. "If it comes to that. But I'm paying you back. Eventually."
"Deal." He smiled. "Stubborn."
"You like that about me."
"I love that about you." The words came out casually but landed with weight.
We both froze. Luca's eyes widened slightly, like he hadn't meant to say it quite like that. I stared at him, processing.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "That came out more intense than I meant. I just—"
"It's okay." I set down my coffee. "I know what you meant."
"Do you?"
Did I? Did I know that Luca Romano was falling for me? That this had moved past control and possession into something deeper?
Looking at him across the table—vulnerable and uncertain and so different from The Architect—I thought maybe I did.
"Yeah," I said softly. "I think I do."
Relief washed over his face. He reached across the table and caught my hand. We sat there for a moment, just holding hands over breakfast, and it felt more intimate than anything we'd done in his bedroom.
"Stay today," Luca said. "Please. Don't go home yet."
"I have to eventually. I have work, my apartment—"
"I know. But stay after breakfast. Stay for a few hours. Let me have this." His thumb traced circles on my hand. "Let me pretend this is normal for a little while longer."
The raw want in his voice undid me. "Okay. I'll stay."
We finished breakfast and moved to the living room. Luca put on music—more jazz, something instrumental and soothing. We sat on the couch together, my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. Just existing together.
It felt domestic. Safe. Like this was something we did all the time instead of a tentative experiment in being together.
"Can I ask you something?" I said after a while.
"Anything."
"The boxing photo. The one I found from twelve years ago. You looked so different."
"I was different. Angrier. Hungrier. Desperate in ways I'm not anymore." His arms tightened around me. "That version of me would have terrified you."
"More than the version who threatened me in my kitchen?"