Chapter 9 Valentino #2
"Are you sure? Because there's this FBI agent—Agent Reeves—who's been asking questions about you. About your work, your sources, your connections." He watched my face carefully. "He contacted me a few weeks ago. Wanted to know if I'd noticed any changes in your behavior or your work."
"And what did you tell him?" I kept my voice level even though rage was building in my chest.
"That you'd been more successful lately. That your work had improved. That you seemed to have developed some high-level sources." He paused. "I didn't think it was a big deal. But now, seeing you like this—"
"You had no right." The words came out harsher than I'd intended. "You had no right to talk to the FBI about me without telling me."
"I was concerned—"
"You were gossiping. Feeding information to a federal agent about your friend's professional life." I stood. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Val, wait—"
"No. I'm done." I grabbed my jacket. "Stay away from me, Alex. And definitely stop talking to Reeves about me."
"I was trying to help—"
"You weren't helping. You were making everything worse." I headed for the door, then turned back. "We're done. Our friendship—it's done. I can't trust you anymore."
The hurt on his face should have made me feel guilty. But all I felt was anger and betrayal. He'd been feeding Reeves information. Contributing to the case being built against me. And he'd thought he was helping.
I walked out of the coffee shop and made it half a block before I had to stop and lean against a building, breathing hard, trying not to lose it on a public street.
My phone buzzed. Text from Alex: I'm sorry. I was worried about you. I didn't know I was making things worse.
I didn't respond. Just put my phone away and started walking. Needed to move, needed to process, needed to figure out how I'd lost one of my oldest friendships to this mess with the FBI.
By the time I made it back to the penthouse, I felt hollowed out. Empty. Like I'd lost something I couldn't get back.
Luca took one look at my face and pulled me into his arms. "That bad?"
"He's been talking to Reeves. Feeding him information about my work, my sources, my behavior." I held on to him. "He thought he was helping. Thought he was being concerned."
"I'm sorry."
"I told him we were done. Ended the friendship." My voice cracked. "He was one of my oldest friends and I just—I can't trust him anymore."
"I know. And I'm sorry you lost that because of me."
"Not because of you. Because of Reeves. Because of the fucking FBI investigation." I pulled back. "But it still hurts."
"Come here." Luca led me to the couch, pulled me down next to him. "What do you need?"
"I don't know. To scream maybe. To break something. To make this all go away." I leaned into him. "I hate this. Hate that my life has become this complicated."
"I know. I'm sorry."
We sat there for a long time, me processing the loss of the friendship, Luca just being there. Being solid and present and exactly what I needed.
Eventually I pulled myself together enough to function. Made lunch. Did some work. Tried to pretend everything was normal when it absolutely wasn't.
***
Two days later, someone buzzed the penthouse intercom.
I was home alone—Luca was at Inferno dealing with some business—and froze when I heard it. We didn't get random visitors. The building had security. No one came up without being announced.
I looked at the camera feed and my stomach dropped.
Agent David Reeves.
He buzzed again, longer this time.
Every instinct screamed at me not to let him up. But he knew I was here. And if I didn't answer, he'd just find another way to corner me.
I met him when the elevator arrived. "What do you want?"
"To talk. Off the record." He looked tired. Frustrated. "Can I come in?"
"No."
"Mr. Russo—"
"Agent Reeves, if you want to talk to me, it needs to go through my lawyer. You know that."
"This isn't official. This is me trying to help you." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
Against my better judgment, I stepped aside. "Five minutes. Then you leave."
He stepped inside and I immediately regretted letting him in. He looked around the penthouse, taking in the expensive furniture, the view, the clear signs of wealth that surrounded me.
"Nice place," he said. "Romano's?"
"Is there a point to this visit?"
He turned to face me. "This is your last chance, Mr. Russo. After this, I'm filing charges. Conspiracy, obstruction of justice, possibly more. You'll be arrested, arraigned, and facing years in prison."
"Then file your charges."
"You're throwing your life away for him." Reeves stepped closer. "Do you understand that? Everything you've worked for—your career, your reputation, your freedom—you're risking it all for a criminal."
"Luca is going legitimate. The organization is restructuring—"
"Too little, too late. I have evidence of criminal activity going back years.
I have documentation of coercion, of threats, of Romano using you to publish stories that served his interests.
" He pulled out his phone, showed me photos.
"I have surveillance showing your relationship.
I can prove he coerced you initially and that you've knowingly protected criminal activity since. "
The photos were clear. Me entering the penthouse. Leaving Inferno at odd hours. Getting into Luca's car. Walking hand-in-hand along the Hudson River.
"These prove nothing except that I'm dating someone," I said.
"They prove a pattern. And when combined with the timeline of your articles, the nature of the stories you published, the sources you protected—they prove conspiracy.
" He put away his phone. "But it doesn't have to be this way.
Testify against Romano. Give us what we need to bring RICO charges. And I'll make sure you get immunity."
"I'm not testifying against him."
"Why?" Real frustration bled into his voice. "He coerced you. Threatened you. Used you. Why are you protecting him?"
"Because I love him." The words came out firm, clear, undeniable. "I love him. And I'm not betraying him."
"That's Stockholm syndrome."
"Call it whatever you want. I'm not changing my mind."
Reeves stared at me for a long moment. Then his expression hardened.
"Then you're going down with him. I'll file charges within the week.
Conspiracy to obstruct justice, at minimum.
You'll be arrested, you'll face trial, and you'll spend years in prison defending a man who doesn't deserve your loyalty. "
"That's my choice to make."
"It's the wrong choice." He headed for the elevator, then turned back. "Last chance, Mr. Russo. Walk away now and I'll protect you. Stay with him and I'll destroy you both."
"Then do what you have to do. But I'm not flipping."
He shook his head. "You'll regret this."
"Maybe. But at least I'll have my integrity."
He left without another word. I immediately called Luca.
"Reeves was just here," I said when he answered. "At the penthouse."
"What?" His voice went sharp with alarm. "What did he say?"
"Final warning. File charges within the week. Last chance to cooperate or I'm going down too."
"Are you okay?"
"Shaken but okay. He showed me photos, Luca. Surveillance of us. He's been documenting everything."
"I'm coming home. Right now."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm coming home." His voice was firm. "Stay there. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He hung up before I could argue. I paced the penthouse, adrenaline making me jittery, trying to process what had just happened.
Reeves was done playing games. He was filing charges. This was really happening.
And I'd chosen this. Chosen to stay, chosen to fight, chosen Luca over immunity.
The question was whether that choice would destroy us both.
Luca burst into the penthouse eighteen minutes later, moving straight to me and pulling me into his arms.
"Are you okay?" His hands were on my face, my shoulders, checking me over like Reeves might have physically hurt me.
"I'm fine. He just talked." I held on to him. "But Luca, he's filing charges. Within the week. This is really happening."
"I know." He pulled back to look at me. "We need to call Emilio. Tell him what happened. Prepare."
"I told Reeves I wouldn't flip. Told him I loved you and I was choosing you." The confession came out rougher than I'd intended. "I think I made him angry."
"Good." Luca's expression was fierce. "Let him be angry. Let him file his charges. We'll fight him."
"What if we lose?"
"Then we lose together." He caught my face in his hands. "But we're not losing. Emilio is the best. And we have the resources to fight this properly."
"I'm scared."
"So am I." He kissed me. "But we're not facing this alone. We have each other. And my partners. And Emilio. We have a whole network of support."
"It might not be enough."
"Then we make it enough." He kissed me again, harder this time. "You're mine, Valentino. Mine. And I don't give up what's mine. Not to Reeves, not to the FBI, not to anyone."
The possessiveness in his voice sent heat through me despite the fear. "Yours," I agreed.
"Say it again."
"I'm yours. Only yours."
He kissed me again and this time it wasn't gentle. It was claiming, possessive, desperate. I kissed back just as hard, needing the connection, needing to feel wanted and protected and owned.
"I need you," I said against his mouth. "Now. Please."
"Here?"
"Anywhere. I don't care. I just need you."
He pulled back, eyes dark with want and something fiercer. "The windows. Where we stood after our first real date. I want you there."
The windows overlooking the city. Where we'd held hands and talked about building something real. Full circle from that moment of hope to this moment of desperation.
"Yes," I said.
He walked me backward until my back hit the glass, the cool surface a shock against my skin through my shirt. The city spread out below us, lights twinkling in the early evening darkness.