16. Valentina
Chapter 16
Valentina
“I s that what you’re eating for breakfast?” Mamma asks with a slight purse of her lips.
“It’s breakfast time,” I say, “and I’m eating it, so…” I take another bite of the cornetto con crema , chewing the flaky pastry with its cream filling while Mamma turns away from me to make herself a cappuccino.
“Where did you even get that?” she asks as she pours milk into the steam pitcher.
“Deirdre brought them over yesterday,” I reply.
I think Deirdre goes a little stir-crazy at home when Elio’s not there. When she’s not practising violin or getting ready for her next university term to start in September, she’s in the kitchen with Rosa learning how to make Italian food.
She’s getting pretty good, if this delightful little pastry is any indication. I finish it up as Mamma steams her milk then gets her espresso ready. Once she’s done pouring the milk into the dark liquid, she angles herself to face me. She’s free of makeup this morning, her hair pulled up into a knot on the top of her head, and she’s decked out in leggings and a tight pink tank top.
I groan internally, already knowing what’s coming next.
“I’m going to do a workout. Why don’t you join me?” Her gaze snags on the pastry crumbs on my plate. I hear a small puff of air come out of her nose, like the tiniest, most disappointed sigh in the world. “And we’ll have a light lunch later, eh? Maybe some of that low fat cottage cheese with fruit. And some lemon water? I can make a whole pitcher.”
A whole pitcher of lemon water. Lucky me.
“Why does it matter?” I mutter. “Not like I have to fit into a wedding dress anytime soon.”
“Valentina!”
“Well, it’s true!” I say, rising to bring my plate to the sink. “Kind of pointless to bust my ass dropping dress sizes for a wedding that isn’t even happening.”
Morning sun streams in our massive kitchen’s large windows, sparkling on marble and stainless steel. I can tell Mamma’s gearing up to say something else, but she suddenly shifts her focus behind me. I look over my shoulder to see Papà entering the kitchen.
“Good,” he says, his eyes skating from Mamma and back to me. “You’re both up.”
“Cappuccino?” Mamma asks, offering him the drink she’s just made for herself, but he waves it away.
“I’m having coffee with Rocco this morning.”
I tense at the mention of my would-have-been father-in-law. The lie I told about what happened to Dario has begun to fester. It makes me feel nervous. And guilty.
And stupid. Stupid for lying to cover Darragh’s ass. For what? So he can corner me in dark fountains and taunt me before he disappears into the night?
It’s been one week since Dario’s funeral.
And three weeks since Darragh started seeping through my consciousness like some kind of sickness I can’t shake.
“I have business in Montréal,” Papà says. “Maybe Ottawa, too. We’ll see.” He tugs on the sleeves of his dress shirt, straightening the cuffs. “I want you two at the cottage.”
“The cottage? Why?”
Papà’s attention slices to me.
“Because things have been a fucking shitshow in this city lately, that’s fucking why,” he growls. “Elio’s wedding. The condo unveiling.” His eyes flash. “Girls falling into fountains after funerals.”
That’s what I told them after I dragged my sorry butt back to the restaurant dripping wet.
I fell.
He jumped.
Two lies in a row.
“I want the two of you to spend the rest of the month somewhere quiet.”
Quiet is one way of putting it. What we call the cottage is more like a sprawling lake house on the shores of Georgian Bay. The only neighbours we have up there are sweet little old people whose families have lived there for generations, or random rich folks from the US who leave their Canadian properties empty most of the time.
It’s beautiful up there, don’t get me wrong. But there’s basically nothing to do.
I guess that’s kind of the point.
“The two of us,” I say in clarification. “Just Mamma and me? Is Curse coming?”
“No. Carlotta, you’ll drive.”
Mamma nods and puts on a smile, but I can tell she’s even less thrilled about this exile to the cottage than I am. We’re both city girls, from our heads down to our professionally pedicured toes. Plus, she hates driving.
At least she knows how to drive. I’ve never been allowed to learn.
“How fun,” Mamma gushes with false sweetness, patting my arm. “A girls trip!”
It’s not often Mamma and I go anywhere alone together. Usually, we’re accompanied by Papà or Curse or a soldier. But outside of the city, there’s not nearly as much need for that sort of thing. The cottage is just about as safe and secluded as you can get. And since Mamma is obviously married, she’s chaperone enough for her unattached daughter in this situation.
“I’m leaving this afternoon. You two can leave first thing tomorrow,” Papà says. He adjusts his watch, looks down at it, then frowns. “I have to go. I’ll see you both when I get back.”
He’s not even out of the room before I’ve grabbed my phone and started texting my friends Giulia and Lucia Morelli.
Anyone up for getting drunk tonight?
It doesn’t take long for Giulia to reply.
God, yes.
* * *
Lucia and Giulia pull up in their cute white jeep just after the sun has set. Papà left hours ago, but Mamma’s still here, and she shouts across the whole damn house when she hears me open the front door.
“Valentina! Where are you going?”
“I’m just meeting Giulia and Lucia!” I call back, holding the door halfway open. The darkness of evening has dampened the heat, leaving the air thick at my front while the air conditioning cools my bare back.
“Who’s going with you?” Suddenly Mamma is there at the top of the stairs, hustling down like she’s trying to get her cardio in tonight.
“Mateo’s coming.”
I peer out the doorway and see that Lucia and Giulia’s cousin Mateo is indeed driving the jeep. Our family has been friends with the Morellis since before I was even born. Lucia and Giulia’s father, Doctor Tommaso Morelli, has been stitching Papà and Curse and Elio up since before they even came to Canada. Their cousin Mateo is a known entity. He’s chaperoned us places before.
But Mamma still looks a bit unsure.
“Your Papà isn’t here. I don’t think it’s the best idea.”
“We’re just going out to dance a little bit. It’s fine. I’ll be ready to leave for the cottage bright and early tomorrow.”
More than likely, I’ll be a hungover, but whatever.
“They’re waiting for me. Gotta go, Mamma!” I give her a swift kiss on her cheek before I hasten out the door. I close it before she can call me back.
“Oh my God, you look incredible!” Giulia says as I slide in the backseat beside her. Her identical twin sister, Lucia, twists around to smile at me from the front passenger seat.
“Thanks!” I say, glancing down at my outfit. I’ve got a short, white dress on with a plunging neckline. I’ve straightened my hair within an inch of its life. It falls glossy and smooth all the way down to my waist.
As Mateo drives, Giulia pulls out a flask and hands it to me. Vanilla vodka. Not my favourite, but not bad for building a little pre-outing buzz. I take a second swig, then we pass it around as the three of us catch up. I haven’t seen the Morelli girls since before all the shit with Dario went down, and they’re brimming with questions.
“So he just jumped? What, just like that?” Giulia snaps her fingers.
I don’t like lying to my friends. But I’m in too deep now to start telling the truth to anyone, so I just nod and take another sip from the flask. A glow works its way through my veins. God, this is always the best part of drinking. That first little spark that warms you up from the inside out and makes you feel like this night could turn into anything.
“What the fuck?” Giulia replies, shaking her head, making her high ponytail swing back and forth. “That makes no sense. Did he say anything first?”
I shrug and pass her the flask.
“He just asked for the ring back.”
Giulia blows out a breath between glossy lips and then collapses back against her seat with the flask cradled in her lap, as if it’s just too much to take in.
“That must have been really hard for you,” Lucia says quietly. The soft, loving concern in her dark eyes makes me feel like an ugly, tiny worm. Here she is, being all sweet and supportive and I’m lying straight to her face.
Fucking Darragh. I blame you for this.
“No wonder you want to get drunk tonight,” Giulia says, nodding sagely. “Shots truly are the answer to all life’s little traumas.”
“Amen,” I say, even though I’m not sure how many more shots I’m going to need at this rate. That vanilla vodka is going down just a bit too easy. “Where are we going, anyway? You guys said you had a place in mind.”
“It’s this new place Mateo told us about.”
I frown. “New place? Where? Is it Italian?”
With a name like mine, I can’t just go to any old club that I want to.
“It’s chill,” Mateo pipes up from the driver’s seat. “It’s owned by some American guy. They play good music. Cute fucking baddies, too.”
“Thank you, Mateo, but your comments on the female segment of the club’s clientele are not particularly relevant to us,” Lucia says primly.
Mateo just shrugs. “Whatever. We’re here. I’ll let you three out and go park.”
I press my face to the window, peering out. I haven’t been paying attention to the drive. I have no clue what street we’re on. It makes me a little nervous, not knowing whose territory I’m in right now. But Mateo said the club was owned by an American. As far as I know, Papà doesn’t currently have any beef with anybody from down south right now.
Besides, all we’re here to do is dance and have a good time.
Lucia, Giulia, and I all hop out, teetering and tipsy in our high heels. Mateo pulls away to find a place to park while the three of us head for the club. It’s obvious where we’re meant to go. There’s a lineup of people waiting to get in. I suppress a small sigh as we join the back of the line. I kind of wish we’d gone to one of the usual places. We wouldn’t be waiting at the back of the line if we’d gone to a club owned by one of Papà’s men.
But then again, I don’t exactly want word of me being out tonight getting back to Papà. Mamma wouldn’t have let me go if it was expressly forbidden, but her hesitation was sound. I doubt Papà would be thrilled about me gallivanting around town when he’s in Montréal.
So waiting in line it is.
Luckily, the line moves pretty quickly, especially for groups with women. Lucia, Giulia, and I are at the front of the line before Mateo has even returned from parking the car.
The bouncer, a big, bald guy, looks at Giulia and Lucia’s driver’s licenses. Apart from a moment of confusion about their identical faces and matching birthdays, he waves them in without issue. I hand him my ID – an Ontario Photo Card, since I don’t have a driver’s license – expecting to be let through as quickly as my friends were.
But he just looks at it. Looks and looks and looks.
And then, he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of it.
“Hey! What the hell?” I say, trying to snatch the card from his baseball mitt-sized hands.
“Company protocol,” he says flatly, holding it just out of reach. With his other hand, he appears to be laboriously typing something on his phone using only one thumb.
“Protocol, my ass. You didn’t take a picture of anyone else’s ID! What are you doing now? Are you sending that photo to someone?”
“Like I said. Protocol.”
This was a bad idea. We should have gone to a place we know. I’m suddenly wondering more and more about the American owner of this club. Who are they?
And who is this guy texting? Is he letting someone know I’m here?
Shit. Maybe I should just leave.
I worry my lower lip between my teeth, turning my head to check for Mateo, but I don’t see him anywhere. Lucia and Giulia have disappeared inside.
I’m in a crowd of people and I am completely alone.
“Here,” the bouncer says, finally giving me back my ID. “You’re good to go.”
Good to go. Good to go where? Inside? Because that is feeling like a bad fucking move right now.
“You know what? I’m good,” I tell him, backing away and barely avoiding smacking into the girl waiting behind me. “Sorry,” I say, awkwardly sidling out of the lineup. I start to walk, but feel too exposed on the street. So I duck into the alley beside the club and pull my phone out of my clutch.
I call both Giulia and Lucia. Giulia doesn’t answer, but on the third ring, Lucia does.
“Lucia? Babe, I really don’t think we should party here. The bouncer guy just-”
“What is she saying?” comes Giulia’s shout. Music throbs through the connection. Lucia says something that I don’t catch. Giulia must have grabbed the phone from her, because she suddenly tells me to get my ass in there. Just like their faces, she and Lucia have absolutely identical voices, but their personalities are different enough that I know who’s speaking to me. I can tell when Lucia takes back the phone.
“It’s really hard to hear you, Valentina. Can you come in here? Is something- oh, shit.”
I don’t know if she’s dropped her phone or what, but the connection goes instantly dead.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I call her number again, but I don’t get anywhere. Putting my phone into my purse, I weigh my options – try calling Giulia’s phone, go and look for Mateo and ask him to retrieve his cousins, or just leave on my own. I guess I could get a cab home, but abandoning my friends in that club doesn’t sit right. Not at all.
“Why are you here?”
I yelp, nearly jumping out of my skin at the sudden question that sounds like it’s been asked from directly behind me. I spin around, leg muscles feathering with a shaky combination of adrenaline and booze, to find Darragh Gowan standing less than a foot away from me.
How the hell does he do that? Come upon me without me ever fucking knowing, like a ghost?
He didn’t make a single goddamn sound.
Apparition.
I feel the threat of goosebumps tingle along my arms. My breath comes quicker. Darragh’s dressed in all black, looming like a shadow above me in the alley. I swallow hard and try to turn my shock at his sudden appearance into something else. Something bolder. Something more like a shield. Something that doesn’t let me feel like he could strip me bare with nothing but his eyes if he so chose to.
“Why am I here? Why are you here?” I exclaim. I sound way more pissed than I have any right to be. Darragh’s an infinitely dangerous man, and I’d do well to remember that. He doesn’t like my family, clearly hated my fiancé, and the fact he saved me once was probably just a fluke. A whim his violent brain just happened to find amusing. The result of a crazy coin toss. It’s not a sign that I am safe around him or that I can afford to offend him.
But anything that feels like common sense seems to fly right out the window in his presence. His gaze is so absorbing, so all-encompassing, I feel like it’s sucking me right out of myself.
The shots in the jeep probably didn’t help.
“I don’t answer questions,” he drawls darkly, “about why I’m at my own property.”
My blood chills. The goosebumps, a mere threat before, expand over my skin with full force.
“Your property?” I repeat back stupidly. “Mateo told me some American owned this club!”
Darragh stares at me like I’m an absolute imbecile.
“An American does own this club.” He leans down until his mouth is right beside my ear, his next words a hot demand against my skin. “But who, exactly, do you think owns the fucking building?”
Crap. Crap crap crap.
“I’m going to take a wild stab at it and say that you do,” I answer. I try to sound casual, but my voice comes out breathy and strange.
“Clever little Titone.” Darragh draws back, but only a little. Just enough to look me dead in the eyes. When he speaks again his voice is lower than before. Taut with deadly warning that makes my breath catch. “Who’s Mateo?”
“What? No one.” I shoot the reply back at him without really thinking, vodka swimming around my quivery heart. It’s making me feel all kinds of wrong. My skin is too hot. My stomach constricts. The air between Darragh’s body and mine is somehow both too thick and too thin. Viscous with tension. And too little oxygen.
God. I wish I was stone-cold sober. Why am I always in a position of weakness in front of this man? I’m either tipsy or in my underwear or choking to death.
“No one?”
There’s a shift between us. Cold dread cuts between our bodies like a knife and sinks into my stomach. I’m overcome with the sudden, screaming instinct that I need to get out of this alley right fucking now if I want to survive the night. That instinct only seems to prove itself right at Darragh’s next icy words.
“The last person who lied to me got thrown off a twenty-eight storey building.” A cruel glint comes into his eyes. “If I’m not mistaken, you were there that day.”
Darragh is huge and dark and angry, starkly silhouetted in August sunlight. Nothing but glass and sky and heat above. Gelo de melone below. My throat tastes like brine and blood. He turns to me then and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe -
My hands and feet go numb.
I half expect Darragh to grab me by the hair and drag me up to the roof of this club.
But he doesn’t.
He simply shoves past me…
And leaves me there.
I watch the broad expanse of his muscled back beneath his black T-shirt as he walks away.
No. Walks is the wrong word. It doesn’t hold enough space for the way Darragh moves. All malevolent purpose, all barely contained power. Like there’s a bomb inside him that’s about to go off.
He looks like he’s about to kill somebody.
Who’s Mateo?
My heart stops.
My legs shake, though I’m proud of how fast they move as I take off running down the alley.
But, Christ, this is not the outfit for chasing Darragh. I’m going to break an ankle at this rate. I pause, just long enough to rip off my shoes. And then, I keep on going, shoes and purse dangling from their straps in my hand. I think about dropping everything, but then figure if I need a weapon, at least I could shove the heel of a shoe into one of Darragh’s eyes.
I careen out of the alley and turn the corner. Heart spiralling out of control, lungs heaving, I frantically scan the scene.
It takes me less than a second to spot Darragh. Unlike me, he’s not running, so he’s not too far ahead of me yet.
He’s taller and broader of shoulder than every single person in the long line up. The group of people waiting to get into the club seem to be split into two camps: those who openly stare at Darragh and mutter complaints as he bypasses the queue, and those who avert their eyes. I’m not sure if the latter camp knows who he is, or if they’re just sensing the predatory danger that seems to pour off of Darragh in heavy, dark waves. Either way, they’re definitely the smart ones.
One bold and unfortunately stupid man close to the front of the line steps out of place and attempts to block Darragh’s path.
“Hey, man, what the fuck do you think you’re-”
Darragh cuts him off by grabbing him, one-handed, by the face. Literally. By the face. Like he’s grasping something as small and easy to handle as an apple.
Holy hell, his hands are even bigger than I’d realized. His right palm swallows the man’s features, his fingers extending like tarantula legs along the man’s cheekbones and hairline.
The worst part is, Darragh doesn’t even stop moving. He just keeps walking forward, sending the man tripping and stumbling backwards with the force of the motion. After a few steps, Darragh gives the man a final, furious shove and sends him crashing into another trio of people. The whole group falls bowling pin-style, and when I get closer, I see the man’s nose bleeding profusely as he attempts to disentangle himself from the various limbs of the people Darragh pushed him into.
Darragh reaches the bouncer at the door. “Mateo?” is all he says.
The name is a syringeful of adrenaline straight to my bloodstream. I’m sprinting as hard as I can, barely noticing the sharp slaps of my bare feet on the pavement.
“Just went inside,” the bouncer says. He jerks his chin towards the door. Darragh’s already moving through it by the time I get there. I reach for the handle to follow, but the bouncer stops me.
“What? No!” I cry as the bouncer grabs my arm and pulls me away from the door handle.
“You left the line.”
“Let me go!” It comes out as a hoarse scream. I probably look like a lunatic, but I don’t care. I’m not about to let Darragh murder someone in front of me again. Especially if it’s because of me.
But the bouncer ignores my screams. He’s used to dealing with drunk girls making scenes, I guess, because he doesn’t even blink as he hauls me bodily away from the door.
The resulting panic is nearly blinding, blazing a white-hot trail from my brain down my spine. All I can see is the closed door getting further and further from reach. The door that both Mateo and Darragh are now behind. I don’t know whether to scream or fight or try to run right out of his grip. I’m about to swing my shoes and purse at the bouncer’s face in a desperate, violent bid at escape, when the door at the centre of my pulsing tunnel vision suddenly slams back open.
And now it’s not the door I see, but Darragh. His face, specifically. Jaw ticking. Eyes laser-focused on me. Those eyes go to the arm the bouncer is squeezing in his hand, and they flare with something terrible, something dangerous, something that knocks the breath from my body.
“If your hand is still on her by the time I get there,” he says with terrifying softness, taking rapid strides towards the bouncer and me, “then you will fucking lose it.”
The bouncer freezes. So do I, so stunned am I by Darragh suddenly turning around and hauling ass right back out here when he’d seemed so single-mindedly determined on his previous path. Darragh is only about three steps away when the bouncer’s brain finally registers what’s happening. His thick fingers fly from my arm as if my skin has the power to scorch.
With no one holding on to me now, I bolt, heading once more for that door. If Darragh reaches for me, I don’t see it. My hand wraps around the handle and yanks. I don’t stop once I’m inside. I sprint right past the coat and bag check area and into the heart of the club.
Music pulses so loudly, is so saturated with bass, that it feels like a second heartbeat. My head pounds, my chest throbs with the rhythmic rise and fall of the beats. Dancing bodies writhe in darkness all around me. Sporadic, shifting lights show me nothing but ghostly fingers and blurred faces.
It’s impossible to fight my way through the knot of people in the centre of the room. Giving up on that, I move to the perimeter, where a small set of steps takes me to a higher level that rings the club. Tables and booths block my path, as do couples making out and scantily-clad servers carrying trays of drinks.
I can’t find him. I can’t find any of them. Trying to spot Mateo or Lucia or Giulia in this mess is going to be impossible, and any head start I have on Darragh must be dwindling down to nothing by now. We have to get out of here. And get out of here now .
More than one man tries to catch my eye and stop me as I push my way by. One of them even reaches for me. While attempting to avoid his stretching hand, I stumble to the side and bash into the wall. My shoulder has hit on something hard and protruding. I squint at it, and when a well-timed strobe of pink light passes, I know exactly what it is.
It’s a fire alarm.
I don’t stop to think. I take one of my shoes into my right hand, hoist the heel up like it’s a hammer, and bring it down on the glass.
It breaks. I find the latch inside and yank.
The music cuts, lights come on, and the screeching alarm punctures the air. In an instant, chaos takes hold of the place and shakes it like a child with a snow globe. People disperse wildly, pushing and shoving and some of them screaming. The alarm system must be connected to the sprinklers, because suddenly it’s pouring, like a storm just let loose and there’s no roof to keep it at bay.
I plaster my back to the wall and stay out of the way as everyone scrambles for the exits. No one notices me in their frantic rush for the nearest door. At first, I try to scan the roiling crowds for my friends, but quickly give up on that. It’s even harder to peel people apart now that they’re running than when they were dancing. I’ll just have to wait until everyone is out and hope that the sheer number of people fleeing distracts Darragh long enough to get the hell out of here.
In what feels like only a couple of manic heartbeats, the place is entirely empty.
Empty, except for one lone man.
And he’s coming straight for me.