Salvatore
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Inever thought I’d find a woman worthy of the Vitale name. Now I find myself wondering if I’m the one who isn’t worthy of her.
Representatives from all five families mingle with practiced ease, their smiles sharp as knives, their eyes constantly calculating.
But none of them are looking at each other.
They're looking at Valentina.
She walks beside me, her hand resting lightly in the crook of my arm, and she's fucking magnificent. The royal blue gown fits her like it was painted on, and the diamonds at her throat catch the light with every breath she takes.
She's nervous, I can feel the slight tension in her fingers—but she doesn't show it. Her spine is straight, her chin lifted, her expression perfectly composed.
She looks like she was born to stand at my side.
"Salvatore." Antonio Moretti approaches with his wife on his arm. "So good of you to join us."
"Antonio." I shake his hand, keeping my grip firm. "Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Valentina."
Antonio's eyes flick to her, assessing. "Yes, Valentina Marino,” “It’s Vitale,” I interrupt. No emotion. Correction.
“Hm. Any relation to Marco Marino?"
"My father," Valentina says smoothly. Her voice doesn't waver.
"Ah." Antonio's smile sharpens. "I see. How… interesting."
The implication hangs in the air, that she's here as payment for her father's sins. That she's a transaction rather than a choice.
I feel Valentina tense beside me, but before I can respond, she does it herself.
"My father's choices are his own," she says, her voice carrying enough edge to make it clear she won't be talked down to. "I'm here because Salvatore asked me to be. And because I chose to say yes."
Antonio's eyebrows rise, surprised by her backbone. I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.
That's my girl.
"A woman with her own mind," Antonio says, recovering smoothly. "How refreshing." He inclines his head. "Congratulations to you both."
We move through the room, and the pattern repeats. The Grecos. The Calabrese. The Volcovs. Each family representative is sizing up Valentina, looking for weakness, trying to understand the game I'm playing by bringing her here.
She handles each interaction with grace, never giving them what they're looking for. Never showing fear or uncertainty.
I'm so fucking proud of her.
"You're doing beautifully," I murmur against her ear as we pause near one of the windows.
"I feel like I'm being examined under a microscope," she admits quietly.
"You are. And you're passing every test." I press a kiss to her temple.
"Just a little longer, then we can leave."
That's when I see him.
Lorenzo Calabri. Mid-thirties, heir to the Calabri fortune, and known for being handsy with women who aren't his wife.
He's moving toward us with the confidence of a man who's never faced real consequences.
"Salvatore," he says, extending his hand. "Good to see you."
I shake it, keeping my expression neutral. "Lorenzo."
He looks at Valentina, and something predatory flickers in his gaze. "And who is this beautiful creature?"
"My fiancée." My voice drops a degree. "Valentina."
"Enchanted." Lorenzo takes her hand before she can pull it back and brings it to his lips. The kiss lingers too long. His fingers trail along her wrist as he releases her, a deliberate caress that makes my vision go red at the edges.
"You're a very lucky man, Salvatore," Lorenzo says, his eyes never leaving Valentina. "She's exquisite."
Valentina's smile is polite but cold. "Thank you." She steps closer to me, reclaiming the distance Lorenzo tried to invade.
But Lorenzo doesn't take the hint. He moves closer, his hand coming to rest on her bare shoulder.
"You know," he says, his thumb stroking her skin, "if you ever get tired of playing house with Vitale here, I'd be more than happy to—"
I don't let him finish.
My hand closes around his throat, and I slam him against the nearest wall hard enough that his head cracks against the marble. Gasps ripple through the ballroom as conversations die mid-sentence.
I don't care. I don't care who's watching. I don't care about the politics or the alliances or the careful balance we're supposed to maintain.
All I care about is the fact that this piece of shit touched what's mine.
"You think you can touch my woman?" I tighten my grip, feeling his pulse hammer against my palm. "You think you can put your filthy fucking hands on her and live to brag about it?"
Lorenzo's face is turning purple, his hands clawing at my wrist. He can't breathe. Can't speak. Can't do anything but stare at me with wide, terrified eyes.
Good.
"Salvatore." Matteo's voice cuts through the haze of rage. "Brother. Not here."
I ignore him.
"Every man in this room needs to understand something," I announce, my voice carrying across the silent ballroom.
"Valentina Marino is mine. She wears my ring.
She will carry my name. And anyone who touches her, looks at her wrong, or even thinks about disrespecting her will answer to me. Personally."
Lorenzo's eyes are starting to roll back.
Salvatore." Valentina's voice is soft, close. I feel her hand on my arm.
"Please. Let him go."
"He touched you." The words scrape out of my throat.
"I know. But to take a man's life for that?"
"I'd take his life twice for that." My grip tightens reflexively, and Lorenzo starts falling apart.
Her fingers press harder into my arm. "Salvatore.
" She moves closer, until I can feel her against my back.
"If you kill him here, in front of everyone...
" A pause. Then, quieter, almost a whisper: "They'll only see the monster.
And I know you're so much more than that.
" Another beat. Her thumb traces a small circle against my wrist. "Please. For me."
The sound of her voice cuts through the rage like nothing else could. I look at her—at those green eyes that see too much, at the slight tremble in her fingers that she's trying to hide, at the way she's standing tall despite the fear I know she must be feeling.
She's asking me to stop. Not commanding. Not demanding. Asking.
And fuck, I'd do anything she asked.
I release Lorenzo, and he crumples to the floor, gasping and choking, hands clutching his bruised throat.
I crouch down beside him, making sure he can see my face. Making sure he understands.
"Next time," I say quietly, "I won't stop. Next time, I'll take your hands. Then your tongue. Then your life. Do we understand each other?"
Lorenzo nods frantically, still gasping for air.
I stand and take Valentina's hand. "Let's go."
I don't look back at the room full of witnesses. Don't acknowledge the shocked faces or the whispers that will follow us out. I walk out with my woman on my arm and my men falling into step behind us.
The car ride home is silent. Valentina sits beside me, her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window. I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves.
"Say it," I finally tell her.
"Say what?"
"Whatever you're thinking. Whatever you're feeling. Say it."
She turns to look at me. "You were going to kill him. Take a man’s life… and for what? For touching me."
"Yes."
"Do you understand how insane that is?"
"He touched what's mine. That's a death sentence."
"I'm not property, Salvatore."
"You're mine. There's a difference." I reach for her hand, but she pulls away.
"This is who I am, Valentina. This is what loving you looks like coming from me. I'm a violent man. A dangerous man. And when someone threatens what's mine, when someone threatens you, I don't think. I don't calculate. I act."
She's silent for a long moment, her eyes searching my face.
“Every mistake, isn’t a death sentence, Salvatore. I need you to remember that. I need you to be intentional about not killing people. I need you to think of me, stopping you before you take a life.”
"I stopped you," she says quietly.
"What?"
"I asked you to let him go. And you did." She reaches for my hand now, threading her fingers through mine. "That matters, Salvatore. That you listened to me. That you chose me over your rage."
I soften beneath her touch.
"I'll always choose you," I tell her. "Even when it costs me. Even when it goes against every instinct I have."
She leans her head against my shoulder, and we ride the rest of the way home like that.
* * *
When we get home, I watch her walk up the stairs toward her room. She doesn't invite me. Doesn't look back.
But she doesn't close the door either.
I start to follow when I see my brothers emerging from the shadows.
I walk out onto the compound so Valentina doesn’t have to hear whatever this conversation is about.
"That was quite a show," Matteo says, lighting a cigar.
"Not now."
"No, I think now is perfect." He exhales smoke into the night air. "You just threatened to kill a Calabrese heir in front of half the city's power structure. Over a shoulder touch."
Elio lights up a cigarette, standing there, waiting for my response.
"He disrespected her."
"He was testing you," Raffaele corrects, his voice flat. "Seeing how far he could push before you snapped. And you gave him exactly what he wanted, proof that she's your weakness."
The words land like a punch. "She's not a weakness."
"Then what is she?" Elio asks, stepping forward. "Because from where we're standing, she's the one thing that can make you lose control. That can make you forget strategy, forget politics, forget everything Father taught us about never showing our hand."
"Elio—"
"He's right," Matteo interrupts. "And you know it. The old families are all watching now. They've seen that if they want to get to you, they go through her."
My hands curl into fists. "Then they die."
"I like the way you think brother. But, you can't kill everyone who looks at her wrong," Raffaele says. "That's not sustainable. That's not strategic."
"I don't give a fuck about strategy when it comes to her safety."
"And that," Matteo says quietly, "is exactly what we're talking about.