Chapter Eighteen #3
He considered asking Maurizio, but his partner was too thin. Then he thought of Dario, who always wore nice clothes. Also, Dario’s proportions were closer to his own—with generous allowances to fit a comfortable belly.
Valerio called Point Break. Graziella answered.
She chuckled when he explained the problem.
“Come on over,” she said. “Dario’s a fashion fanatic, and I need an excuse to empty the closet.”
—
He tried on seven shirts before finding one that met with Graziella’s approval—dark pink, with a nice collar, and smelling of Dario’s cologne.
She declared him “handsome” and “totally fuckable,” which, alone with the pregnant Graziella in the intimacy of Dario’s living room, both pleased and embarrassed him.
“Keep it,” Graziella urged. “He’ll never miss it.”
—
The evening was cool and dry. Maria was nearly a half hour late.
Valerio waited outside the trattoria. Standing still, the city sounds wrapped around him like a blanket. He was exhausted, head pounding. He wanted to sit. No—he wanted to lie down right here on the cobblestones and take a nap.
He called Ravenna.
“Just compliment her,” she reminded him. “She isn’t looking for a partner—she wants a lapdog. She’ll relax when she thinks she can control you.”
—
Maria arrived like a fashion model—slender legs flashing, hips swaying, tanned and toned skin radiant in the glowing streetlights. He kissed her cheeks, inhaling the candy smell of her perfume. He was honest when he called her “bella.”
The restaurant had been Ravenna’s idea; she knew the owner and he’d saved a good table in an intimate corner, away from the bustle.
When they were seated and had ordered wine, Maria tilted her head, gazing from beneath a thick fringe of eyelashes, lips pouting. She traced a finger along the glass.
“I was very angry with you,” she said.
“Yeah,” Valerio agreed, suddenly warm with humiliation, remembering the text Ravenna had sent in his name: Punish me.
“I made a mistake,” he said. “You’re a very beautiful woman…. I should have appreciated you—treated you better.”
Maria seemed uncertain.
Valerio knew he looked tired, and what he’d intended as a passionate plea sounded perfunctory. Wooden.
He felt absurd—sitting here, pretending to flirt, while he tipped with pain and fatigue, and while Luca and his thugs were preparing their next attack.
He didn’t know how to be the actor this situation demanded.
Maria wanted the safety and comfort of a rich man, but he’d arrived in a borrowed shirt, unsure how he’d afford the dinner bill.
She blinked slowly and smiled.
Be a lapdog, Ravenna had said.
Valerio took a slurp of wine.
“So how does this work?” he asked. “I’ve never been a sugar daddy before.”
Maria slid her hand across the table, and stroked his palm.
“I give you what you need and you give me what I need,” she said. “Recurring wire transfers are best—so neither of us needs to think about it. That’s it. You message me when you want to meet—and I’m all yours.”
What must it be like for a man to have that kind of money, to escape the constant danger biting at your back, to stride confidently through the world, owning anything—anyone—you wanted?
“You make it sound easy,” he said.
“It should be easy,” she said warmly. “This is about prioritizing pleasure.”
Valerio kissed her fingertips, and smiled.
—
The food was delicious and, he noted with relief, at a manageable price. Yet the atmosphere was sophisticated enough to satisfy Maria, and she found a meal to suit her special preferences.
As he ate spaghetti ai frutti di mare, Valerio regretted stuffing himself on kebab wraps earlier.
“Is there anything you’d like to know about me?” he asked.
“I’d love to know about your boat,” she said.
Valerio considered lying—making Calypso larger and grander than she was. But he was proud of the little 9.5-meter Balanzone that he and Nikki had restored. He described sourcing the materials, repairing the hull and engine, bringing the decaying sailboat back to life.
To his surprise, Maria seemed genuinely interested. She asked the right questions and laughed at some of his stories.
“So much work!” she exclaimed.
A heat of pride rose to Valerio’s cheeks.
“Well, it was Nikki, too,” he conceded with a grin. “Stubborn little devil. She thinks she can save the world. You should meet her sometime. You’d like her. Once you get past her crusty exterior, she’s a sweetheart.”
Maria pouted. “Should I be jealous?”
Valerio chuckled. “She’s just a friend.”
He hadn’t intended to mention Nikki at all. But talking about her made him aware that he’d bought into this illusion, blurring reality and fantasy.
What would Nikki think if she saw him playing this charade, lying, pretending? He imagined the disapproval on her face. She was the most honest person he’d ever known. She would urge him to tell the truth.
Now that Maria was comfortable, the conversation flowing, Valerio turned his attention to the real reason he was here.
“I’d love to know more about you. May I ask something personal?”
Maria hesitated. “Alright.”
He lowered his voice. “What made you decide to become a sugar baby?”
She smiled, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a very boring story.”
“I want to know everything about you,” he said earnestly.
Her expression didn’t change, but for the briefest moment, something flickered behind her eyes.
“I started modeling when I was twelve,” she said. “It was a great opportunity. The agency flew me out to exotic locations. And models are always invited to parties. That’s where I met my first daddy.”
He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself asking where her parents had been.
“Do you still go to these parties?” he asked. “Should I worry about someone stealing you away?”
“You should always be worried,” she said with a seductive smile.
“So, tell me about this lucky guy.”
“Oh.” She brushed her hand through the air. “Ancient history.”
He chuckled. “C’mon! Who was he?”
“His name was Alfeo. A big-shot lawyer.”
“Lucky bastard!” Valerio exclaimed. “So this big-shot lawyer meets a beautiful woman at a party. He says the right thing, and wins you over. How long were you together?”
She shrugged and smiled. “Three years. We broke it off when I was sixteen.”
“What the fuck?”
He hadn’t meant to say it. The math hit him too fast.
Maria’s face turned suddenly blank and he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.
He reached for her hand—but her fingers were limp and cold. He released his grip.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not judging you. It’s just…thirteen is so young. You must have been frightened. No child should…I just don’t like to think about you being treated like that.”
He meant it. His churning rage was for the sick motherfucker who had done this to her. He wanted to kick the bastard’s teeth in.
She stared at her plate. Her breathing was shallow, rapid.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Without looking up, she reached out and entwined her fingers in his.
“You have very nice hands,” she said, voice flat. “You can tell a lot about a man from his hands.”
She shifted and pulled away, and her hand fell heavily into her lap.
Then she glanced up. The look of grief was both far younger and far older than belonged on that face. It sent a shiver of sadness through Valerio.
“You aren’t going to be my sugar daddy, are you?” she said.
Valerio shook his head. “No.”
“I’m not what you want?”
“It isn’t that,” said Valerio. “You’re amazing. Incredible. But I could never afford you. And…I’m a cop.”
He continued carefully: “I catch and punish men who abuse thirteen-year-old girls, and try to call it a ‘relationship.’ Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He watched as realization settled.
“I understand that you lied to me,” she said.
“Yes. And I’m sorry.”
Maria nodded and sat back, staring at him.
The waiter appeared. Valerio shooed him away.
Maria’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Why bring me here? Why lie to me? What do you want?”
Valerio met her gaze. “I want to stop them.”
She flinched.
“I want to find out who these men are,” he said. “I want to learn how they operate—so I can stop them hurting kids. I was hoping you could help me.”
“It’s my choice.” Her voice was louder now, slack expression starting to reanimate. “How I choose to live my life is my decision.”
“You’ve found a way to survive what happened to you,” he said carefully. “You must be very strong. But it wasn’t your choice when you were thirteen, was it?”
She glared.
“This is still happening, isn’t it?” he pressed. “To other little girls.”
No response.
“Can I ask you some questions?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It won’t matter what I tell you,” she said. “Or what you do.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t stop them.”
“What makes you say that?”
Her words were bitter. “Because the men at those parties? They’re like Alfeo. Lawyers. Politicians. Police. Celebrities. Businessmen. They’re powerful. What do you think you can do? Arrest them?”
“Everyone has a weakness,” said Valerio. “I just need to find it.”
She studied him for a long moment. Then she pushed back from the table and stood.
“I can’t think,” she said. “Not here.”
Valerio stood, too.
“May I come with you?” he asked.
She hesitated. Then nodded.
He signaled the waiter for the bill.
—
Outside, the air was crisp and cool.
Tense, agitated, wordlessly, Maria set a fast pace, heels clipping on the cobblestones.
Valerio let her lead, moving silently alongside.
Now that he knew what she was—what had happened to her—he saw the child in the woman. He understood the little details he’d noticed in their first meeting: the vulnerability, the polished aura of sophistication masking her fear.
She needed respect and care.
She needed to be in control right now.
He let her have that control.