Valentina
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Iwalk into his study without knocking.
That's one of the things that has changed between us. I don't need permission to find him, to talk to him. Well, even if I did, I don't seek it anymore.
He's mine, after all.
Salvatore stands at the window with his back to me, hands tucked into his pockets, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the glass. He doesn't turn when I enter, but I see the slight shift in his posture.
Something feels different.
"What is it?" I ask softly, moving deeper into the room.
He's silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on the skyline as though the answers he's looking for are written somewhere in those glittering lights.
Then, without turning, "Come here."
Not a request. Never a request with him. But the tone is different.
I step up behind him, closing the distance until I’m pressed to his back. My arms slide around him, my fingers threading through his hands.
He stills.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks down at our hands before tightening his grip.
Slowly, he lifts our joined hands and presses his lips to my knuckles, lingering there a second too long. Even the kiss feels different. Like a goodbye he doesn’t want to say out loud.
When he turns to face me, there’s a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before and instead of holding on, he puts his hands in his pockets.
"How are you feeling today?"
"Much better. All the swelling is gone, so… yay." I tilt my head with a small smile that I know drives him crazy.
"Maybe later we can… You know."
I step closer, letting my body brush against his, my knees grazing the inside of his thighs… teasing him.
His body responds to mine without hesitation. He hardens against me, and heat flares low in my belly at the evidence of his want.
But he doesn't touch me. His hands stay exactly where they are, still tucked in his pockets, his shoulders rigid with restraint.
That's what makes my breath catch.
Because Salvatore Vitale doesn't do restraint. Not with me. Not anymore.
When he wants me, he doesn't hesitate. This distance, this iron control? Something’s wrong.
“What’s wrong?” I murmur softly, searching his eyes.
His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment I see something flicker there, something raw and unguarded before he locks it down again.
Then he steps back.
Just one step, but it feels like a chasm opening between us.
My stomach drops.
"Salvatore—"
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a thick manila envelope. He places it on the desk beside us, the soft sound of paper against wood somehow deafening in the quiet room.
“What’s that?” I ask, but something tells me I already know the answer.
"Everything you need," he says simply.
My brows pull together. "For what?"
His gaze holds mine, steady and unflinching.
"To walk away."
The words slam into me with unexpected force.
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. Another way of reminding me that I'm his and there's no escaping that truth.
But he just stands there, watching me with those dark eyes.
"What?" I let out a small, breathless laugh that sounds wrong even to my own ears. "You don't get to just, what is this? Some kind of test?"
"No."
The single word cuts through the air with finality.
Real.
This is real.
My heart starts to pound harder.
"I'm giving you a choice, Valentina," he says, his voice dropping lower. "A real one."
My chest tightens painfully because he's never done that before. In all the weeks since he walked into my life and turned everything upside down, he's never once given me a choice about anything. I just test and take what I can get away with.
"And what exactly is in there?" I ask, nodding toward the envelope even though I'm not sure I want to know.
"Identification. Cash. Access to accounts under a new name." He pauses, letting that sink in. "Five million dollars."
I blink.
"What?"
"It's clean," he continues in that same calm, measured tone. "Completely untraceable. Enough for you to go anywhere you want, be anyone you want. Start over, however you see fit."
My fingers curl into fists at my sides as I try to process what he's saying.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
I shake my head slowly, taking a step toward the desk but not touching the envelope.
"Why?"
That's the part I don't understand. The part that doesn't fit with everything I know about this man.
Salvatore Vitale doesn't give. He takes.
He doesn't offer freedom. He demands surrender.
He doesn't let go of things that belong to him.
And I belong to him; he's made that abundantly clear from the moment he decided I was going to marry him.
So why is he doing this now?
"Because if you stand at that altar tomorrow," he says, his voice going even quieter, "I want it to be because you chose me. Not because you had no other option. Not because I trapped you or forced you or left you with no way out."
"And if I don't?" I whisper.
He takes a deep breath, a muscle jumping beneath the skin.
"Then I'll know you made your choice."
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
My eyes drop back to the envelope.
Five million dollars.
A new identity.
Freedom.
No rules.
No wedding.
No him.
That last thought should bring relief. It should feel like salvation, like the answer to prayers I didn't even know I'd been saying.
It doesn't.
"I don't understand," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You've spent all this time making sure I couldn't leave. Making sure I knew exactly who I belonged to. And now you're just… letting me go?"
"I'm not letting you do anything," he says, and there's that edge in his voice now, that sharp reminder of exactly who he is. "I'm giving you the option. There's a difference."
I look up at him, studying the hard lines of his face, the tension in his shoulders, the careful blankness in his expression that I've learned means he's feeling far more than he wants to show.
"And you're just… okay with whatever I decide?"
His gaze darkens.
"No."
The single word makes my breath catch.
"But I'll accept it."
Somehow that's worse. Because I believe him.
I can see it in his eyes, the truth of what this is costing him, the iron will it's taking to stand here and offer me this when everything in him wants to lock me down and never let go.
"You really think I'd walk away?" I ask.
"I think," he says, stepping closer now, closing that distance he created, "that you're the kind of woman who needs to know she can."
He stops just in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Close enough to touch.
But he still doesn't.
"And if I don't give you that option," he continues, his voice dropping to something almost tender, "then I don't get all of you. I get the parts you're willing to surrender because you have no choice. But not the parts you give freely."
My throat tightens because he's right.
"If you don't show up tomorrow," he adds, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that steals my breath, "I won't come looking for you."
No tracking devices.
No hired investigators.
No dragging me back kicking and screaming.
No second chances.
"You'd just… let me go," I say, testing the words, trying to make them feel real.
"Yes."
The word is quiet.
Final.
I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn't.
He just watches me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"I need to think," I whisper finally.
"I know."
He steps back then, creating distance again, and the loss of his proximity feels like something physical being torn away.
"Take the envelope. That’s non-negotiable.”
I stare at it for a long moment, then I pick it up.
The weight of it feels impossible in my hands.
Five million dollars.
My future.
Or my past.
I'm not sure which.
When I look up at him again, he's already moved back to the window, his hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders tense.
Dismissing me.
Letting me go.
"Salvatore—"
"Don't," he says quietly, not turning around. "Whatever you're going to say right now… don't."
My throat tightens.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to hear you make a decision you haven't had time to sit with." His voice is controlled, but I hear the strain underneath it. "And I don't want to say something that might influence that decision."
He's really doing this.
He's really letting me walk out of here.
"Go, Valentina," he says, and there's something raw in his voice now. "Before I change my mind about giving you a choice at all."
I stand there.
“Now… please.”
“Okay.”
I walk toward the door, the envelope clutched against my chest, my heart pounding so hard I can barely breathe.
I pause at the threshold, looking back at him one more time.
He hasn't moved.
He's still standing at that window, staring out at the city, his profile sharp and perfect and utterly closed off.
"Salvatore—"
"Go."
I walk out of his study, through the hallway, down the stairs.
No one stops me.
No guards appear.
He doesn’t call out to me.
He's really letting me leave.
* * *
The drive to Lindsay's penthouse passes in a blur.
I don't call ahead. I don't warn her I'm coming. I just show up at her door with the envelope clutched in my hands and my heart still racing from everything Salvatore said.
When she opens the door, she takes one look at my face and immediately steps aside.
"What happened?" she asks, closing the door behind me.
I don't answer. I just walk straight to her kitchen counter and drop the envelope on the marble surface.
"That," I say, my voice shaking slightly, "is my way out."
Lindsay's eyes narrow. She moves closer, her prosecutor instincts kicking in as she studies the envelope like it might be evidence in a case.
"Explain."
"Open it."
She hesitates for only a second before sliding the envelope toward herself and pulling out the contents. Her eyes scan quickly. Documents, a card, account information, and then she freezes.
"Valentina…"
"I know."
"A check for five million?"
Her head snaps up so fast I'm surprised she doesn't give herself whiplash.
"Five million dollars?"
"Yep."