Chapter 7 #2
“Deuce?” another woman’s voice calls from the doorway.
We both turn to see Janie Brook, a city council member, with a binder in her arms that looks like it’s about to explode. I rush over and take the binder from her. She gives me a relieved smile of thanks as she shakes out her arms.
“Landry, this is Janie from the city council. Janie, this is Landry.” I make the introduction and place the binder on the table in front of Valentina.
“Oh, Landry, we are so happy you volunteered to take on the Battle of the Boutiques. We couldn’t expect poor Mary London to run it with a newborn in her arms, now could we?
It’s too much work for just one person, so feel free to ask around for volunteers to help you.
Not me though.” Janie laughs nervously. “I can’t take on one more thing, no sir, no ma’am. ”
Valentina’s face goes a shade paler than normal. “Oh sure. Yeah, I’m…excited…to get started.”
Janie claps her hands. “Great! I’ll leave you to it, then.” She rushes out of the room, probably so she doesn’t give Valentina time to hand back the binder and rescind her offer.
I hear customers out on the sales floor. “I have to go help. I’ll check back in later?”
Valentina flips open the binder and swallows hard as an avalanche of paper slides out.
She doesn’t answer, so I take that as a yes.
I bury myself in work, enjoying the process of helping men find their perfect suit for any occasion.
I don’t come up for air to check on Valentina until just past noon, though she’s not far from my thoughts.
She’s like an annoying song that you just can’t get out of your head. A mind virus, if you will.
I open the door to the storage room and stop in my tracks. Papers are spread across the entire six-foot table, so thick I can’t see the actual table. Valentina is nowhere in sight, the empty chair mocking me.
Fuck.
Did I already lose her? Bettina is going to kill me. Literally.
I’m just about to turn around and dash out of the boutique to scan the streets when I hear a whimper.
Ducking down, I shut the door and tiptoe to the corner of the storage room.
There, on the floor, her back to the wall and her legs sprawled out in front of her, is Valentina.
She’s bent over, face in her hands. She’s rocking back and forth, whimpering and doing some sort of weird breathing thing while counting out loud.
I check for blood and breathe easier when I don’t see any.
I approach like I’m trying to not get bit by a wounded animal.
“Valentina?” I whisper.
Her head whips up and I see her eyes are red from…crying? No. From her fists digging into her eyeballs. Her makeup is smeared and she’s still rocking.
I reach for her, then snatch my hand back when she snarls.
“Did…something happen?” I look around, but don’t see anything that would offer an explanation.
“Just.” She pants and rocks a few more times, then comes to a stop. “Give me a minute.”
I wait her out, finally sitting down in front of her to get comfortable, my legs crossed, dress shoes digging into my legs.
Is she having a medical event? I fish out my phone, thumb poised to call 9-1-1.
Except something in the back of my mind has me stalling.
This reminds me of this one girl I dated in my twenties.
She’d have panic attacks on occasion, her behavior not unlike what Valentina is doing right now.
She finally lifts her head, swipes under her eyes, and lets out a long slow exhale. When she breathes in again, she meets my eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask softly, afraid talking in full volume will send her back into…whatever the hell that was.
“Nothing! Just…taking a break.”
She breaks eye contact and takes another measured breath. She’s clearly lying.
“Why are you breathing like that? Do I need to call an ambulance?” I hold up my phone.
“No!” she snaps, reaching for my phone. I hold it out of her grasp and she gives up immediately. Now I know for sure something’s seriously wrong. Valentina doesn’t give up anything easily.
“I’m calling,” I grunt, already halfway there.
“No!” she shouts again, scrambling to her knees to swat the phone out of my hand. It goes flying to the floor with a clatter. I gape at her. “I just…get these breathing things sometimes where I can’t catch my breath. I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”
Concern hits me, and I don’t like it. I don’t want to be concerned about Valentina. She certainly had none of it for me after she stabbed me.
“Have you been to a cardiologist?”
“Yes!” she snaps. “Healthy as a horse. Fazio thinks it’s stress related.”
At the mention of her bodyguard, I lose all sense of concern.
So that guy’s still around. Great. He already punched the daylights out of me the morning after Valentina and I had sex when we were teenagers.
Fazio was barely older than either of us and he had the audacity to punch me right in the face for touching Valentina.
The sad thing is I knew he pulled that punch and it still hurt like a motherfucker.
When I went to Valentina’s room to warn her that Fazio knew what we’d done, she fucking stabbed me. I took that as my sign to head back to Heaven and never return to New York. I didn’t want anything to do with that cutthroat world. Nor would I continue to compete with her for my mother’s favor.
Stress related, huh? As much as it pains me to admit, Fazio could be right. Now I feel bad for making fun of her taking on the Battle of the Boutiques planning. Has that stressed her out already?
Another idea occurs to me.
One I didn’t think of until just now because the ways of organized crime have always been in my rearview. I don’t think like them any longer, but having Valentina here is bringing all that back.
“Why did you leave the Barzettis?”
Valentina’s head snaps up, body tense and eyes snapping even as they focus on my nose instead of holding my gaze. At least her breathing seems to be back to normal.
“Just felt like it was time,” she says dismissively.
She’s clearly lying.
Which pisses me off. I’ve rearranged my whole life to protect her and she won’t tell me what’s actually going on?
“We need some level of trust between us, Valentina,” I growl.
Her gaze finally meets mine, her expression shifting to that cunning smile I hate so much. “Do we?”