Chapter 24
SEBASTIAN
I’m in the security office at Bellissimo when Matteo sends the footage of a suspicious black sedan to the large monitor on the wall. The angle is bad but not useless. I don’t need to look closely to know it’s Adrian.
Four minutes is long enough to be seen. He wants me to know he’s here. He’s taunting me.
Matteo stands beside me, arms crossed, jacket off, with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s been in the same shirt since yesterday, which tells me he’s been working all night.
“That’s Dolce Monday, Prime Vida Wednesday, and Bellissimo last night,” he says. “Same car, same pattern.”
“He knows the weak spots.”
“Yes.”
“Then we have a leak.”
Matteo exhales through his nose and looks back at the screen. “Most likely.”
I don’t like that answer.
“He knew the service schedule. He knew when the alley camera would be blocked by deliveries. He knew which door had the light out for two days because maintenance dragged their feet.”
“I’m pulling access logs,” Matteo tells me.
“Why aren’t they already on my desk?”
Matteo glances at me. “Someone’s moody today.”
“Someone’s going to be dead today if you don’t find my leak.”
“I’m on it.”
That’s the only answer I want.
He taps through a few more screens. Still images from other properties come up one by one.
A man in a black cap near Dolce. A delivery van idling outside Prime Vida.
The same sedan caught at an angle near one of our hotels downtown.
Nothing clean enough to grab him on. Everything close enough to irritate me.
Adrian is smarter than I gave him credit for. Careful. Patient when he needs to be. He knows how to frighten Val without getting close. He knows how to make his presence felt while keeping enough distance to stay alive.
Matteo changes screens again.
“I’ve got three new hires with access to shift rotations. Two contractors with temporary badges. One valet at Dolce who owes money to a bookie with Vescari ties.”
“Start with the valet.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“He’s scared, broke, and stupid. I don’t think he’s our leak, but he knows someone who might be.”
“Put pressure on him.”
Matteo’s mouth curves. “I wasn’t planning to ask nicely.”
“Try not to have too much fun.”
“I make no promises.”
That’s about as much humor as either of us can afford right now. He sends the list to my phone while I stare at the footage. Part of me wants to go downstairs and handle the valet myself. The smarter part knows I’m too angry to be useful.
I can handle threats. I can handle men testing my properties, my money, my men, my patience. That’s business. But Adrian threatened the mother of my child.
I can’t stop picturing Val in my library with her laptop open. Val in my bed, pretending she isn’t scared of how normal it’s starting to feel. Val in the doctor’s office, her fingers wrapped around mine while our baby’s heartbeat filled the room.
“What’s coming from New York?”
“Enough to be annoying.” He picks up the tablet from the counter. “Adrian’s making calls through old family channels. Nothing official. His father’s people aren’t openly backing him, but a few still take his calls.”
“So he’s acting alone, but not completely.”
“That’s my read.”
I rub my thumb along my jaw and look back at the sedan. “Lean on them.”
“How hard?”
“Quietly, for now. I don’t want a war with his father unless his father decides he wants one.”
Matteo nods. “Money first?”
“Money, licenses, shipments, anything that can bruise without drawing blood.”
“I’ll send men east.”
“Send men who understand the word quiet.”
He gives me a flat look. “I don’t usually send idiots to New York.”
“No, you keep them here to staff my clubs.”
“That was hurtful.”
“You’ll recover.”
He almost smiles, then doesn’t. The footage loops again, the sedan pulling away into the alley like a shadow I can’t get my hands on. I’ve never liked waiting. I like it less now.
Matteo shuts off the monitor. “Val needs distance from this.”
I look at him.
“I know you don’t want to hear it,” he says. “But if Adrian has eyes on your properties, your house is the next thing he’ll try to investigate. Maybe he can’t get in. Maybe he can. Either way, keeping her in LA makes her easier to track.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I cut him a look. “Careful.”
“I am being careful.” He sets the tablet down. “That’s why I’m telling you before something happens.”
I don’t answer right away because he’s right, and neither of us needs me to say that out loud. Getting Val out of LA is the safest move. It also happens to be the move most likely to make her hate me.
This is going to be a problem. Unfortunately, I’m running out of options that don’t sound like problems.
When I get home, Nico’s car is already in the driveway. I find him in the kitchen eating imported cheese straight off the board my chef probably arranged with more care than Nico deserves. Val is in the library on a vendor call, her voice carrying faintly down the hall.
Nico points the cheese knife at me. “You look like shit.”
“Good to see you, too.”
“I came to see my sister.”
“Clearly.”
He takes another bite and studies me. Nico may choose to stay out of my business, but he isn’t stupid. He knows how to read the difference between a normal bad day and the kind that gets people killed.
“What happened?” he asks.
I glance toward the hall. Val’s still talking. She sounds irritated, which means the vendor is alive and probably deserves to be.
“Adrian is getting too close to my properties.”
Nico’s expression changes immediately. “How close?”
“Close enough.”
He sets the cheese knife down. “Sebastian.”
I lower my voice. “He has information he shouldn’t have. I’m handling it.”
“I don’t care about your properties.”
“I know.”
“I care about Val.”
“So do I.”
He looks toward the hallway, and for once the anger in him burns off fast enough to leave the worry underneath. “She seems better here.”
“She is better here.”
“But not safe enough.”
I don’t answer.
Nico drags a hand over his mouth and lets out a hard breath. “Get her out of LA.”
Hearing it from him irritates me more than hearing it from Matteo. Probably because Nico has no operational reason to say it. He isn’t thinking about leaks or camera coverage or New York pressure. He’s thinking about his sister, and he still lands on the same conclusion.
“For a few days,” he continues. “A week. Whatever. Somewhere Adrian doesn’t know. Somewhere she can breathe.”
“You think she’ll agree to that?”
He gives me a look. “Not a chance in hell.”
That almost makes me laugh. Almost.
“She’ll hate it,” he says.
Before I can answer, Val appears in the kitchen doorway with her laptop tucked against her chest.
“What will I hate?”
Neither of us answers fast enough.
Her eyes narrow. “Amazing. I hate it already.”
Nico gives me a look that says good luck, then grabs another piece of cheese for the road. I wait until he leaves to bring it up properly.
Val is back in the library by then, curled in the corner of the sofa with her laptop open and a legal pad on her knees. Crackers sit on the coffee table next to a glass of water she’s ignoring.
I stop in the doorway.
She looks up. “You have the face again.”
“What face?”
“The one that means you’re about to say something I won’t like.”
I loosen my tie. “We need to leave town for a while.”
Her laptop closes immediately. “Wow. Straight to it.”
“It’s temporary.”
“No.” Her answer is immediate.
“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re asking.” Val’s eyes stay on mine, sharp and tired. “It sounds like you’ve already decided.”
“Adrian is escalating,” I say. “He’s getting too close to my properties, and he has information he shouldn’t have. Until I know where it’s coming from, I want you away from LA.”
She sits back slightly, like she needs distance from the sentence. “You want me away from LA.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I haven’t decided.”
She laughs once, but there’s nothing amused about it. “That’s incredible.”
“Valentina…”
“No, really.” She sets the laptop beside her with too much care. That’s worse than if she’d thrown it. “Somehow you made it worse with every sentence.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“That is becoming your favorite excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse.”
“It is when you use it to make decisions for me.” She stands, arms crossing over her chest. “You keep dressing it up like protection, but the result is always the same. You decide. I react.”
“I’m not making decisions for you.”
“You walked into this room and told me we need to leave town.”
“Because the threat changed.”
“And you didn’t think I deserved to be part of the conversation before you decided?” she asks.
I look away for half a second. It’s enough of an answer.
She lets out a short breath and shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m not trying to control you.”
“Then have a conversation with me about it instead of telling me what it’s going to be!” she yells.
“I’m not Adrian,” I shoot back.
Her expression hardens immediately. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, even though I already know exactly where I fucked up.
“Use him to end the argument.” Her voice is lower now, which is somehow worse than when she was snapping at me. “I know you’re not Adrian. That doesn’t mean everything you do is automatically fine.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You don’t have to.” She gestures toward me, frustrated and exhausted and too smart to let me hide behind good intentions. “You get that look. Like you’re so sure you’re right that the rest of us should be grateful when we finally catch up.”
“That’s because I am right.”
The second it leaves my mouth, I know I should’ve kept it there.
Her eyes flash. “There he is.”
“Val…”
“No. Don’t Val me.” She grabs the legal pad off the sofa, probably because she needs something in her hands or she’ll start throwing things.
“You want to take me somewhere, but you won’t tell me where.
You talked to Nico before you talked to me.
You and Matteo are doing God knows what behind the scenes.
And now I’m supposed to nod along because I’m pregnant and scared and you’ve decided the plan is reasonable? ”
“The plan is reasonable.”
“But you didn’t ask me to consent to it.”
I drag a hand over my jaw. “If you stay in LA and he gets to you, how much does your consent matter then?”
Her face goes pale.
I hate that I said it. I hate more that I mean it. She walks past me before I can stop her. I let her go because every instinct I have right now is wrong.
I don’t sleep much. Between Matteo’s updates, a call from New York, and the ugly weight of that fight sitting in my chest, there’s no point in trying. Close to dawn, I decide enough time has passed for me to apologize before starting the argument again.
The guest room door is open. She hasn’t been sleeping there, but she goes there when she wants space. I knock once on the open door anyway and step inside. The room is empty. The bed hasn’t been slept in. The closet door is cracked, and the small overnight bag she keeps there is gone.