Chapter 9 Valentino
THE DRIVE BACK from Sandro's estate was silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Luca's hand tightening on the steering wheel.
I stared out the window at Manhattan passing by in streaks of light, trying to process everything Emilio had said. Conspiracy charges. Obstruction. RICO for Luca. Reeves was building a case that would destroy both of us, and there was nothing we could do except prepare to fight.
"Talk to me." Luca's voice broke the silence. "You've been quiet since we left."
"Processing." I didn't look away from the window. "Trying to figure out how we got here."
"I know how we got here. I threatened you, coerced you, started this whole thing with control and intimidation." His voice was tight. "This is my fault."
"That's not what I meant." I finally turned to look at him. "I meant—how did we go from that beginning to this? To me sitting in a strategy meeting about federal conspiracy charges because I refused to flip on you?"
"You could still flip. Emilio said—"
"I'm not flipping. We already had this conversation." I reached for his hand on the gear shift. "I made my choice. I'm choosing you. Even if it means facing charges."
His hand turned, fingers threading through mine. "I don't want you to face charges because of me."
"Too late. We're in this together now." I squeezed his hand. "For better or worse, apparently."
We pulled into the parking garage under Luca's building—our building now, I reminded myself—and took the elevator up in continued silence. The weight of what we were facing pressed down on both of us.
Once inside the penthouse, I kicked off my shoes and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. "I need a drink."
"Me too."
I poured us both whiskey, neat, and we stood at the kitchen island drinking in silence. The alcohol burned going down but did nothing to ease the tension coiling in my chest.
"What if they arrest me?" The question came out quieter than I'd intended.
Luca set down his glass. "Then Emilio gets you out immediately. Bail, whatever it takes. You won't spend a night in custody."
"But what if they don't grant bail? What if Reeves convinces a judge I'm a flight risk or—"
"Valentino." Luca caught my face in his hands. "I won't let that happen. I have resources. Money. Influence. Whatever it takes to keep you safe."
"You can't control the FBI."
"No. But I can fight them. And I will. With everything I have." His eyes were dark with something fierce. "You're mine. I protect what's mine."
The possessiveness should have bothered me. Should have reminded me too much of the beginning, when control and ownership were weapons he used against me. But now, with federal charges looming, it just felt like safety.
"I'm scared," I admitted.
"So am I." He pulled me into his arms. "Terrified. Of losing you. Of watching Reeves destroy what we've built. Of not being able to protect you."
We stood there holding each other, both processing the fear, both trying to be strong for the other. Eventually we made our way to the bedroom, neither of us having the energy for anything except sleep.
But once we were in bed, sleep wouldn't come.
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling while Luca pressed against my side, one arm draped across my chest. Both of us too wired to relax, too stressed to let go.
"What's the worst case scenario?" I asked the darkness.
"For me? Prison. Long sentence, probably. RICO charges are serious." Luca's voice was flat. "For you? Depends on whether they can prove conspiracy or just obstruction. Could be probation. Could be jail time."
"And best case?"
"Emilio gets charges dropped before they're filed. Or we fight it in court and win." He shifted closer. "But realistically? We're looking at a trial. Probably a long one."
"How long?"
"Year or more before it even gets to trial. Then the trial itself could take months." His arm tightened around me. "It's going to be hell, Valentino. I won't lie about that."
"But we'll be together through it?"
"If you want to be. If you don't walk away first."
I turned to face him. "I'm not walking away. How many times do I have to say that before you believe me?"
"I believe you now. I'm just waiting for you to change your mind when this gets really ugly."
"I'm not changing my mind." I kissed him. "You're stuck with me. Through conspiracy charges, federal trials, whatever comes next."
"You're an idiot for choosing this."
"Probably. But I'm your idiot."
He kissed me then, deep and desperate, and we lost ourselves in each other for a while. Not sex—we were both too emotionally exhausted—just kissing and touching and holding on to each other like lifelines.
When we finally broke apart, I tucked my head under his chin and let my eyes close.
"Whatever happens," I said quietly, "we face it together."
"Together," he agreed.
We fell asleep like that, wrapped around each other, both trying to find comfort in the darkness.
The next morning I woke to my phone buzzing on the nightstand.
Alex Park. Calling for the third time this week.
I'd been avoiding him since I'd seen that message from Reeves on his phone at the coffee shop. Couldn't trust him anymore, couldn't tell him the truth, couldn't maintain the friendship knowing he was feeding information to a federal agent investigating me.
But I also missed him. Missed having a friend outside of Luca's world. Missed the journalism school camaraderie, the easy conversations about stories and sources and the industry.
I stared at the phone until it stopped ringing. Then it immediately started again.
"You should answer it," Luca said from beside me. He was already awake, probably had been for a while. "You can't avoid him forever."
"I can try."
"Valentino."
"What am I supposed to say to him? 'Hey Alex, sorry I've been distant, I've just been under FBI investigation because I'm dating a mob boss who initially coerced me into compliance'?" I sat up. "There's no conversation that doesn't end badly."
"So tell him you're going through some personal stuff. Keep it vague."
"He won't accept vague. He's a journalist. He'll keep digging."
"Then meet him. See what he wants. But be careful what you say." Luca sat up too. "If he's still in contact with Reeves—"
"I know. Anything I tell Alex could end up in an FBI report." I grabbed my phone as it started ringing a third time. "This is such a mess."
I answered before I could talk myself out of it. "Hey Alex."
"Finally. I was starting to think you'd blocked me." His voice was friendly but I heard the hurt underneath. "You've been avoiding my calls."
"Sorry. It's been a crazy week."
"Can we meet? Coffee? I feel like we haven't really talked in a while."
I looked at Luca, who nodded. "Sure. When?"
"Today? Our usual place? Say eleven?"
"Okay. I'll see you there."
I hung up and immediately felt the weight of dread settle in my stomach. "This is going to be awful."
"Probably." Luca pulled me back down into bed. "But you have a few hours before you have to deal with it. Come here."
We spent the morning in bed, neither of us wanting to face the day. Eventually I had to get up and get ready. Dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, trying to look like everything was normal when nothing was normal anymore.
Luca kissed me goodbye at the elevator. "Be careful what you say."
"I know."
"And if he asks about us—"
"I'll keep it vague. I know the rules."
"Rules." He said it like the word tasted bitter. "I hate that we have to have rules about your friendships now."
"So do I. But this is where we are." I kissed him again. "I'll text you after."
I got to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early and ordered my usual. Sat at our regular table near the window and tried to look casual while my stomach twisted itself into knots.
Alex arrived exactly on time, looking the same as always—button-down shirt, messenger bag, slightly disheveled in that journalist way. He ordered coffee and joined me at the table, studying my face with concern.
"You look tired," he said.
"Thanks. You know how to make a guy feel good."
"I'm serious. Are you okay? You've been... different lately. Distant."
"I'm fine. Just busy with work." I took a sip of coffee to avoid his eyes.
"Work." He didn't believe me. I could see it in his face. "Val, we've been friends since journalism school. I know when you're bullshitting me."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are. You've been avoiding my calls for weeks. You barely respond to texts. When I do see you, you're jumpy and distracted." He leaned forward. "What's going on?"
I wanted to tell him. Wanted to unload everything—the FBI investigation, the relationship with Luca, the terror of facing conspiracy charges. Wanted my friend back, wanted the support and understanding we'd always given each other.
But I couldn't. Because Alex was talking to Reeves. And anything I said could and would be used against me.
"I'm just dealing with some personal stuff," I said carefully. "Nothing I can really talk about right now."
"Personal stuff." His expression shifted. Became more professional, more journalist-like. "Does this personal stuff have anything to do with Luca Romano?"
My blood went cold. "What?"
"Come on, Val. I'm not stupid. Your sudden string of excellent exposés, your new connections, the way you deflect every time I ask about your sources." He took a sip of his coffee. "You're involved with the Vitale organization somehow. And probably with Romano specifically."
"I have sources across multiple organizations. That's how investigative journalism works."
"Sources don't leave you looking this stressed. This scared." His voice softened. "Val, if you're in trouble—if someone's pressuring you or threatening you—you can tell me. I can help."
The genuine concern in his voice made my chest ache. He thought he was helping. Thought he was being a good friend by reaching out, by offering support.
He had no idea he was making everything worse.
"I'm not in trouble," I said firmly. "And no one's threatening me."