Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Valentina
I stretch my limbs, surprised to see sunlight streaming through the curtains in Deuce’s room.
Not surprised to be waking up in his bed, mind you, since I’ve been doing that more and more, but just surprised I slept in.
I snuggle deeper into the sheets, wanting to stay inside that delicious dream I’d been having.
Deuce and I had been at an ax-throwing facility, laughing with friends while competing to see who had the best accuracy.
Spoiler alert: it was me. Deuce had just come up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and snuggled his gorgeous face into my neck, whispering about the things he had planned for me when we got home.
I’d felt at peace.
Happy.
In love.
It’s disorienting to wake up and realize it was all a dream. But is it really all a dream? I force my eyes open again and roll over, wanting confirmation that Deuce isn’t a figment of my imagination.
But he isn’t there.
I sit upright, then pivot to check out the time on the clock next to his side of the bed.
It’s almost nine, which means he’s already at the boutique, getting the place ready to open.
Normally I join him, the two of us working side by side.
Ever since he suggested it and I opened myself to the possibility, he’d been right. We do make an incredible team.
Throwing off the covers, I slide out of bed and throw on one of his T-shirts from the dresser, pulling it up to my nose to sniff the laundry-detergent scent that reminds me instantly of Deuce.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask myself out loud.
I’m sniffing a man’s shirt! I scoff loudly, roll my eyes, and march down to the kitchen for some coffee.
This is getting out of hand. There’s no way this built-up image of Deuce in my head can be real.
Real men aren’t best friend material. All men out there in the world are ultimately about one thing: themselves.
Except there, right on the kitchen counter next to the expensive espresso machine that I tease Deuce about but love so much, is a handwritten note.
My favorite mug is holding down the sheet of paper.
The note’s definitely from Deuce, based off the barely legible slashes across the page.
I pick it up like I’m trying not to get my fingerprints on it.
V,
You were sleeping like an angel and I didn’t want to wake you up. Protein pancake is in the microwave, just heat it up. Call me when you’re awake so I can come back to pick you up. I hope you have a restful morning.
Miss you already,
D
I drop it back onto the counter and bow my head, letting out a groan.
“Dammit!” How can I keep these walls up when he’s sweet like that? Is he for real?
My phone chimes and I snatch it up, hoping both for a distraction from this mess and for a text from Deuce. I’m fucking addicted to his attention apparently. But it’s not Deuce. It’s Betsy and a group text I’m suddenly a part of.
Betsy Mae: I’m taking Harlow to pick strawberries tomorrow. Anyone want to come with?
Mary London: I’m in! Don’t tell me you’re working, Valentina! I’ll have a word with Deuce. He’s clearly overworking you, you poor sweet thing.
I snort in the quiet kitchen. God, I love these girls. They’re ridiculous. And just my kind of people.
Me: I guess I’m in, then.
Betsy Mae: Hell yes!!
Mary London: Don’t you mean heaven yes?
I turn off the screen and start laughing out loud like a crazy person.
What is happening to me here? I’m sleeping regularly with a gorgeous, kind man.
I have friends who invite me to go strawberry picking.
I’m wearing florals on the daily. Jesus.
Pretty soon I’ll be using “y’all” and “kinfolk” in a normal conversation.
“Baking pies,” I add out loud. “Going to church regularly. Might even start liking sweet tea.”
I’m snort-giggling, trying to control myself long enough to take my first sip of coffee when I’m snatched from behind.
The mug flies out of my hand. My surprised, slow brain is mostly concerned with my favorite mug breaking instead of the fact someone has banded their arm around my waist and thrown me to the ground.
Air whooshes out of my lungs, and I can’t be sure who my assailant is because my eyes slide shut when my skull cracks against the hardwood floor.
I’m flipped over onto my stomach before I mount any sort of defense.
By then it’s too late because my hands are hog-tied behind my back and a sweetly scented rag is shoved over my nose and mouth.
The kitchen goes wobbly and then blissfully black.
My last thought is just as dark.
I knew this happiness couldn’t last.
Panic greets me when my eyes open again sometime later.
My head is pounding and my mouth is as dry as the desert.
My hands are still tied behind my back and I’m lying on them in an uncomfortable heap.
Pins and needles are the least of my worries.
It takes me ages to piece together what’s going on.
When I finally remember what happened in Deuce’s kitchen, I want to burn down the world and get back to that peaceful life with Deuce and Marcel and my friends and even those hideous florals that aren’t really so hideous to me anymore.
I’m in a dark room, so devoid of light I can’t make out where the walls are.
I roll to my side and sit up awkwardly. My ankles are also tied, which makes every movement more difficult.
I find a wall quickly as I scoot backward.
I lean against it and think. My mouth isn’t covered, but I don’t scream for help.
Based on the professional way I was abducted, I’d imagine they wouldn’t leave me somewhere I could be overheard so easily.
This is a professional job, no doubt about it.
Since abductions don’t happen on the regular in Heaven, I have to assume this is about the coup in New York.
Which means I’m a valuable pawn in whatever negotiation is being done between warring families.
Play my cards right and I can live through this experience.
As my eyes adjust to the environment and the fuzziness in my head recedes, I can make out a window on the far wall in the middle of a wood-paneled wall. Ratty curtains cover it. I’m probably in a cabin somewhere remote. Somewhere no one can hear me scream.
Without making any noise, I get my hands under my butt and then down my legs.
My shoulders scream at me, but I ignore the pain.
I fumble around, reversing the movement and touching all the way up my thighs.
I want to scream in frustration when I remember I hadn’t gotten dressed for the day yet.
I’m wearing panties and Deuce’s T-shirt.
That’s it. No knife strapped to my thigh.
No pistol in my purse. No phone in a pocket.
Sudden nausea has me slowing down my breathing and counting out my inhales and exhales. I could also fall asleep right now, which is super annoying. Are these side effects from the chloroform they gave me? Or is this from the possible concussion?
I don’t end up having time to decide if a nap is in order because a door opens to my right.
I crane my neck and then have to squeeze my eyes shut as light floods the room.
The door shuts and everything goes dark again.
Boots clank against the floor as someone comes into the room.
I open my eyes slightly, trying to make out who it is.
Dark jeans, black T-shirt, baseball hat.
Broad, muscled shoulders. White teeth below lips stretched into a smile.
“Hello, Valentina.”
The man’s voice is deep and menacing.
And so damn familiar it makes my head swim with shock.
“Fazio?”
My old bodyguard claps his hands slowly, mocking me for just now putting together the pieces. He sits on the floor in front of me.
“It’s about time you see me.”
“What…?” I’m at a loss for words, too stunned that he’s been behind all this crap in New York to really understand the situation. “Why are you doing this?”
He grins again, his hand sliding up my shin in a shocking familiarity that makes me shiver. “I like how you dressed for me, though I could have done without another man’s shirt.”
I pull my legs back as far as I can, but there’s really no hiding that I’m tied up and barely clothed. He clucks his tongue.
“Oh, you won’t pull away from me later.” He stands back up and pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. He places a call and puts the phone to his ear.
My brain is short-circuiting on me when I need it to be running at top speed. Think, Valentina. The ties around my wrists are too tight to slip out of. I glance around the room, looking for something sharp to cut them.
“Hello, Bettina.”
My gaze snaps back to Fazio on the phone, dread filling my gut.
“You weren’t very nice to my men last night. Not very smart of you.”
I hear her voice ringing out from the speaker of the phone. I can tell she’s yelling, but I can’t make out the words.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Fazio cuts her off, all cool confidence that makes me very worried.
“You’re going to relinquish the Barzettis to me.
You know why? Because I’m the best man for the job.
Always have been. I spent all those years guarding Valentina.
Learning the business. Making connections. ”
He chuckles, but I can hear Bettina still yelling.
He cuts her off. “Because I have Valentina here with me and I know you’d hate to see harm come to her.”
Fazio pulls the phone from his ear and presses a button, aiming the phone in my direction. I turn my head, but he reaches down and grabs my hair, yanking my face toward the view of the camera on his phone. My scalp burns, but I use that pain to funnel into my rage.
“Valentina!” I hear Bettina gasp, the phone now on speaker.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll return to New York tomorrow to officially take charge of the Barzettis. You’ll make an announcement. Valentina will marry me, by my side, running everything like normal. And everyone will be safe and sound.”
“And if I don’t?” snaps Bettina, more pissed than I’ve ever heard her.
Fazio shrugs. “Then Valentina gets hurt. You try to take it away from me in the future, Valentina gets hurt. It’s very simple, really.”
Bettina lets out a string of curses, but doesn’t respond to his threats. Fazio tosses me the phone, which I can’t catch. It lands in my lap, the angle really terrible for double chins.
“Tell her,” he growls.
Instead of talking to Bettina, who looks so angry on the phone screen it makes me flinch, I look at Fazio. “Why are you doing this?”
He just shrugs. “I should have always run it. You women aren’t cut out for it.”
Ah, misogyny strikes again. “So then why do you want to marry me?”
His grin turns lecherous. “You were always the untouchable princess.” He nearly spits the word. He runs a finger up my thigh, so high and inappropriate I thrash around to knock him away from me. All it does is jostle the phone. He laughs at my panic. “Not so untouchable now, are you?”
Then he straightens, taking the phone from my lap. “You have thirty seconds to agree to my proposal, Bettina.”
“Fuck you, Fazio. You’re not taking this from me!”
Fazio’s grin is chilling. Bettina’s denial to give up control for my safety is also disturbing, but no less than I expected. He doesn’t answer her right away, he just steps close, looming over me, the phone camera angled at my face.
“That’s unfortunate to hear.”
And then he lifts his arm, gun in hand, and brings it down on my head while my adoptive mother watches.
My world goes dark once again.