16. Valeria #2
“You are so pretty,” he murmurs against my skin.
My breath catches in my throat. I twist out of his arms, averting my eyes and hoping the darkness hides my blush. How can he be so consistently certain of us while I’m still sorting out my feelings for him?
“Are they here already?” I ask, looking anywhere other than my fiancé in his bespoke suit.
“They are.” Amusement softens his voice as he takes my hand. “They can’t wait to meet you.”
Inside the restaurant’s dark interior, the hostess greets us with a feline smile, her striking green eyes lingering on Nico before she checks our reservation.
I frown.
Nico always draws attention—he’s almost impossible to look away from—but for the first time, the idea of another woman noticing him laces my chest tight with jealousy.
Almost like he’s reading my thoughts, Nico wraps an arm around my waist and brushes a kiss against my temple. The jealousy roars into greed.
This man is mine. He’s shown me as much, hasn’t he? Outside the restaurant, in front of other women, alone in his apartment, Nico gravitates toward me like the moon to the Earth. I never doubt, for better or for worse, that I am the center of his focus.
Slowly, I let myself dip toward him and place a palm on his chest, warming to the idea that this is something I could get used to.
He gives me a curious look, but only tightens his grip around me.
Goosebumps break out over my skin, followed by a rush of heat. Lacey’s right. I need to trust my heart.
As the hostess leads us through the dining area, I take Nico’s hand. He weaves his fingers through mine, squeezing gently. My pulse accelerates.
Paper lanterns float from the ceiling like luminescent jellyfish, casting a warm glow over the guest’s faces as they murmur across flickering candles.
The hostess leads us to a small table where, framed by full windows overlooking dark city streets, Nico’s mom and sister are unmistakable.
I clutch Nico’s hand as we approach.
Nico’s sister stands.
Alessia is Amazonian, with heels and a curvy body shown to full advantage by her tight, roseate dress. She leans forward to hug me, her glossy blowout cascading over our shoulders.
“Valeria,” she says, amber eyes twinkling with reserved amusement. She even smells like wealth, a mix of top-shelf wine and jasmine. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
I plaster a smile onto my face. “You as well.”
Nico’s mom, Claudia, delicately extends her hand for me to shake. She’s a classic beauty too, with some of her daughter’s stature and bold features, and elegant streaks of silver through her black hair. In a spotless cream blouse, she sips from a glass of red wine and gestures for us to sit.
Nico gives long, lingering hugs to his mom and sister, stirring surprise and longing inside me. My parents only reserve hugs for when they’re drunk and someone else is watching.
Alessia pinches Nico’s cheek, and he slaps her hand away good-naturedly.
I blink. And I’ve only seen siblings behave like that on TV.
“Wow, Nico, you must really like her,” Alessia says. She smirks in my direction like we’re sharing a secret. “He wore one of those T-shirts with a tuxedo print on them the last time he introduced a woman to Mamma and me.”
“You know me. I like to keep things classy,” Nico says, guiding me to my chair before easing into his.
“We already ordered appetizers. And I can recommend an entrée if you’d like. We’ve eaten here before.”
“I didn’t know you visited Chicago before,” I say.
Alessia smiles at me with her perfectly lined red lipstick and bright white teeth. “Occasionally, on business.”
She looks like someone whose business involves private jets and hitmen on speed dial.
“How is the wedding planning going?” Claudia asks.
I stiffen, but Nico casually scoops up a menu and glances over the interior. “We gave Ruth free rein. She’s got an eye for it anyway.”
Claudia turns a calculating look in my direction. “Free rein? Valeria, you’re not involved in the design process?” It’s clear by her light tone, she thinks I’m making a horrible mistake.
Our server steps to the table, holding a plate layered with thin pink meat and a sprinkling of cheese and capers on top.
“She’s delegating,” Alessia says as she piles her plate with the appetizer. She smiles at me. “Valeria, do you work?”
My mouth goes dry.
Nico squeezes my hand under the table.
“She’s on a leave of absence, for the wedding,” he lies easily.
I glance toward him. He smiles, confident and self-assured. My heart rate slows. I squeeze his hand back and take a sip of water.
“You might consider quitting entirely,” Claudia says, the slightest hint of an Italian accent in her words. “You’ll need more time than you’d think to restore your body once you have a baby.”
I nearly choke on my drink.
“Ma!” Alessia says. She gestures to her food. “I’m eating.”
“Oh, come on, Alessia. We’re all adults here.”
Alessia rolls her eyes and leans toward me conspiratorially. “Mamma thinks every woman’s greatest achievement in life is to be pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen.”
To her credit, Claudia seems unbothered as she places a single, delicate strip of meat on her plate. “I only recognize what a blessing it is to be able to spend so much time with your loving children after giving birth. Many mothers would kill for that.”
My stomach twists into a knot.
Even in my wildest fantasies of owning my own place, of living far away from Chicago, I always imagined I’d be working. Being a stay-at-home mom was too far outside the realm of possibility.
But I stayed with Nico, it’d be more than possible—it would be expected. I would completely devote myself to our children, and Nico would provide for our every need. So long as those needs came second to the mob’s.
“Did you have a good flight over?” Nico asks.
The rest of the evening diffuses into polite conversation.
Alessia talks about her art gallery and clothing businesses. Claudia asks if Nico and I go to church—Nico shares a look with Alessia and answers sarcastically, “Yeah, twice a week.”
Claudia only gives a fond shake of her head and sips her wine.
If I didn’t know any better, the three of them could be any other normal, loving family. Nico is relaxed and laughs easily, his hand on my knee throughout the evening. He’s happy.
I’ve been wondering about the type of father Nico would be, but what type of mother would I be? Is it possible to love your children so much that it outweighs the evils of the Family?
I sip on my wine, a light smile on my face so I don’t look angry, my mind a thousand miles away.
“Papà wants to know when you’re coming up to visit him,” Alessia says.
Next to her, Claudia takes a drink.
“Father is welcome to visit me whenever he likes. I am at his disposal,” Nico says dryly.
“You know that’s not the same. He wants to meet you and Valeria, and you should try to smooth things over before you move back to New York.”
I glance over at Nico sharply.
Alessia catches the look and glares at her brother. “You haven’t told her?”
“No, and thank you so much for that,” he says. He turns toward me. “My father has expectations that you and I will move to New York after the wedding.”
The ugly truth rears its head. I set down my wine, swallowing the urge to blame Nico.
“Do we get a say in this?” I ask him.
Is he going to fight for us?
He places his hand over mine on the table. “Do you want to stay in Chicago?”
No, but that doesn’t mean I want to go to New York. How could Nico keep us, or any future children, safe there? He couldn’t even keep himself from going to prison.
He searches my eyes. “We’ll discuss this later.”
I’m conscious of his mom and sister at the table with us as I force a tight smile and nod.
There’s a moment of awkward silence before Claudia speaks up, “You’ll love New York, Valeria. It’s much warmer in the winter, and there’s so much to do. And Alessia has been looking for someone to take to the spa.”
“Yeah,” Alessia says. “We can get our nails done and gossip about Nico.”
A car with loud, thundering music drives past the restaurant.
A masculine voice shouts—in Russian.
CRACK.
Glass explodes over us.
Alessia and Claudia scream and dive for cover.
My world flips upside down as Nico throws me onto the ground and covers my body completely with his. Pain slices into my shoulder.
Gunshots pop. The glass windows shatter. Cries erupt throughout the restaurant.
He shifts above me, reaching for his back pocket—his gun. He lifts his head, aiming the gun with practiced efficiency.
“Let’s go,” Alessia calls out over the screams. She’s on her hands and knees, a gun in her hand as well.
Nico looks down at me, his amber eyes wide with a whirl of emotions.
He used his body as a shield for me, I think distantly.
He drags me into a low crouch, and we follow the crowd of people streaming out of the restaurant. Right as we’re about to shuffle out the front door, I glance back.
All of the windows have been shot in, except for the window over our table.
Then Nico jerks me to his side, and we run for his car.