Chapter 11 Valentino
I WOKE TO my phone buzzing nonstop on the nightstand.
For a moment I didn't remember. Then it all came crashing back—the arrest, the handcuffs, the arraignment, the ankle monitor heavy around my leg.
I was under federal indictment.
Luca stirred beside me. "What time is it?"
"Seven." I grabbed my phone and immediately wished I hadn't. Fifty-three missed calls. Over a hundred texts. My email inbox was exploding.
"Media?" Luca asked.
"Everyone." I scrolled through the notifications. Former colleagues, journalism school friends, editors I'd worked with, reporters wanting statements. "It's everywhere."
He sat up and checked his own phone. Made a face. "Same. We're the top story."
I opened a news site and there it was: "Journalist Arrested in Mob Conspiracy Case - Russo Charged Alongside Alleged Crime Boss Romano."
The photo was from yesterday—us in handcuffs being led out of the building. I looked terrified. Luca looked defiant.
"They're destroying me," I said quietly. "My career is over."
"We don't know that yet."
"Look at this." I showed him the article. It detailed the charges, my relationship with Luca, the timeline of my articles. Made it sound like I'd been a mob puppet from the beginning. Like everything I'd written was propaganda.
My phone rang. My editor.
"I have to take this." I answered. "David, I—"
"Valentino." His voice was cold. Professional. "I'm calling to inform you that we're suspending publication of your work pending the outcome of your case."
My stomach dropped. "David—"
"You understand this is necessary. The paper can't be associated with someone under federal indictment for conspiracy. It compromises our credibility."
"The charges aren't proven. I'm innocent until—"
"That's for the courts to decide. Until then, you're suspended. I'm sorry, Valentino." He hung up.
I sat there staring at my phone. Suspended. My career destroyed in one phone call.
"What did he say?" Luca asked.
"Suspended. They won't publish my work until after trial." I set down the phone. "It's over. Everything I worked for."
"It's not over. After we win—"
"If we win. And even if we do, who's going to hire me? I'm the journalist who dated a mob boss. Who got arrested for conspiracy. That doesn't go away."
Luca pulled me into his arms. "We'll figure it out. One day at a time."
My phone rang again. Another journalist. I declined the call. Then another. And another.
"Turn it off," Luca said. "You don't have to talk to anyone."
"They'll keep calling."
"Let them. You don't owe anyone explanations."
I turned off my phone and leaned against him. We sat there in silence, both processing what our lives had become.
Around noon, I turned my phone back on. I had to—couldn't stay disconnected forever.
Immediately, one call came through. My mother.
"I have to take this." I answered. "Mom?"
"Valentino." Her voice was tight with emotion. "I saw the news. Tell me what's happening."
"I..." Where did I even start? "It's complicated."
"Are you okay? Were you hurt?"
"I'm okay. I wasn't hurt. Just arrested and arraigned. I'm out on bail."
"I saw. They showed you in handcuffs." She was crying. "My son in handcuffs on television."
Guilt crashed over me. "I'm sorry. I never wanted you to see that."
"Tell me the truth. All of it. Are they right? Did he force you?"
I looked at Luca, who was watching me carefully. "It started that way. He coerced me at first. But Mom, it's not like that anymore. I love him. I chose to stay."
Silence. Then: "You love him."
"I do. I know how it looks. I know everyone thinks I'm crazy or brainwashed or compromised. But I love him and I chose this."
More silence. I braced for judgment, for her to tell me I'd made the worst mistake of my life.
"Then I support you," she said finally.
"What?"
"If you love him, if you chose him, then I support you." Her voice was firmer now. "Fight for him, Valentino. Fight for what you want. I didn't raise you to give up."
Tears were running down my face. "Thank you. You have no idea how much that means."
"I'm your mother. I love you no matter what. Even when you make questionable decisions." A hint of humor in her voice. "Though I would like to meet this man eventually. Make sure he's worth all this trouble."
"He is. I promise he is."
"Then bring him to visit. After all this legal nonsense is over."
We talked for a few more minutes before hanging up. I sat there staring at my phone, overwhelmed by relief.
"She supports us," I told Luca.
"I heard." He pulled me close. "That's good. You needed that."
"I did. I just..." I couldn't finish. Too emotional.
"I know."
We spent the rest of the afternoon looking at media coverage. It was brutal. Think pieces about compromised journalism. Former colleagues publicly distancing themselves. Social media posts condemning me.
But there were also surprises.
Stefan sent me a link to an article: "Valentino Russo's Independent Work Proves Journalistic Integrity." A defense of my school board investigation, pointing out that I'd done excellent work without any connection to Luca.
My journalism professor from college emailed: "I know this looks bad. But I know you. You have integrity. Fight this."
A few former classmates reached out with support instead of judgment.
Small vindications amid the destruction.
"It's not everyone," Luca said, reading over my shoulder. "Some people believe in you."
"Some. Not enough to save my career."
"Maybe not right now. But after trial, after we prove the charges wrong—"
"If we prove them wrong."
"We will." His voice was firm. "We're going to fight this and we're going to win."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to have that confidence. But looking at the media coverage, at the charges we faced, at the potential prison sentences—it was hard to feel hopeful.
That evening, we ordered takeout and ate mostly in silence. Both of us exhausted. Both still processing.
"This is our life now," I said eventually. "Ankle monitors and bail conditions and waiting for trial. Media destroying us daily. Everyone judging us."
"For now. But it won't be forever."
"It might be. If we're convicted."
"Then we'll survive that too." He reached for my hand. "Together. Whatever comes."
I threaded my fingers through his. "I'm scared."
"So am I. But we survived day one. We survived today. We'll survive tomorrow."
"One day at a time."
"One day at a time."
We cleaned up and went to bed early, both too drained for anything else. I curled against Luca's side and tried to let the tension go.
"Valentino?" His voice was quiet in the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For choosing me. For staying despite all this."
"Thank you for being worth it."
"Am I? Worth all this destruction?"
"Yes." I didn't hesitate. "You are."
He held me tighter. "We're going to get through this."
"I know." And maybe I was starting to believe it.
We'd survived day two. Tomorrow we'd survive day three. And the day after that. However many days it took to get to trial, to verdict, to whatever future waited on the other side.