Valentina #2
"Yeah," I whisper. "That's okay."
We stay like that for a long time. Two people who shouldn't fit together, finding something like peace in the quiet of the library.
His leg doesn't shake again.
* * *
Later that night, I find myself standing outside Salvatore's door.
I haven't been here since the shooting. Haven't sought him out like this before. But something has shifted between us, and I can't pretend otherwise.
I knock before I can talk myself out of it.
"Come in."
His voice is stronger than I expected. That's good. That's... good.
I push open the door.
He's propped up in bed, laptop balanced on his thighs, looking far too composed for a man who shared his deepest vulnerabilities with me hours ago. The room is dim, lit only by the lamp on his nightstand and the glow of his screen. He looks up when I enter.
"Valentina."
The way he says my name, like it's a complete sentence, like it means something, makes my skin prickle.
"Valentina," I repeat, mimicking his serious tone. "Why do you have to be so formal all the time? It's okay to let your guard down occasionally."
His brow furrows. "Did you not want me to say your name?"
"That's not—" I stop, take a breath. "Look... I need to talk to you about something."
He closes the laptop and gives me his full attention. I immediately wish he hadn't.
"I have to go somewhere on Saturday."
"No."
"No?" I blink. "I didn't even tell you where."
"Doesn't matter where." His voice is flat, final. "You don't leave this house until after the wedding."
I stare at him. "Is there a reason you didn't die the other day besides to torment me?"
The question hangs in the air between us. His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes.
"Is that what you would have wanted?"
"It would have been a step in the right direction."
"Didn't seem like that's how you felt in the library today."
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. I think about his leg trembling under my hand. The way his breathing steadied at my touch. The secrets he shared.
He breaks first.
"Where do you need to go?"
I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I have a standing monthly thing with my friend Lindsay. She won't let it go."
"Ah. The prosecutor."
"It's just dinner and drinks. A few hours. She's my best friend, and she's worried about me, and if I don't show up, she's going to do something drastic like file a missing persons report."
"Would she?"
"She absolutely would. She's dramatic like that." I pause. "Also she's smart and stubborn, and she won't stop digging until she finds something. You want an ADA investigating where I disappeared to?"
He's quiet for a moment, studying me with those dark eyes that see too much.
"One of my men will accompany you."
"No." The word comes out too fast. "How the hell would I explain that to her? 'Oh, this giant guy with a gun? Don't worry about him, he's just my... driver?'"
"He'll stay out of sight."
"She's very attentive. She'll notice people who are trying to stay out of sight."
"Then he'll be very good at his job." Salvatore's tone brooks no argument. "You go nowhere without protection. Those are my terms."
I consider walking out, but Lindsay's voice echoes in my head. If you're not there, we're going to have a problem.
"Fine," I grind out. "But if she notices him, I'm not responsible for whatever happens next."
Something that might be amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I can live with that."
I turn to leave, my hand on the doorknob, when something makes me pause. I don't know why I say it. The words are out before I can stop them.
"Feel better."
I don't look back to see his reaction. I close the door behind me and walk away, my heart pounding.
I care whether he heals.
I care, and I hate that I care, and I don't know when that happened or how to make it stop.
My life was simple with a clear sense of right and wrong.
Now I'm comforting a mafia boss. I don't know who I'm becoming.
I’m not sure I want to find out.
But as I make my way back to my room, I realize something terrifying.
I'm no longer counting the days until I can leave.
I'm counting the moments until I see him again.
After I'm back in my room and in bed, the minute I start to doze off, my phone dings.
I glance at it, and it's a text from him.
SV: Thank you, gorgeous.
I type back before I can stop myself.
Me: For what?
SV: For staying.
SV: For seeing me.
SV: For not running when you had the chance.
I stare at the screen, heart pounding.
Me: Go to sleep, Salvatore. Doctor's orders.
SV: Is that concern I hear?
Me: It's exhaustion. You're exhausting.
SV: Goodnight, Valentina.
I set the phone on the nightstand and roll onto my side, pulling the covers up to my chin.
But sleep doesn't come easily.
Instead, I lie there in the dark, thinking about a man who shakes when no one's watching, who built walls so high even he forgot what was behind them, and who looked at me today like I was the first person in thirty-six years to see him clearly.
I think about six months.
I think about choices.
For the first time since I signed that contract, I think about what it might mean to actually stay.