Chapter 14
VAL
I held the blade to his throat, not because I could do anything with a stupid fucking butter knife, but because I feared what he might do to me.
Stefano wouldn’t hurt me the way Aris and Saul had—that I knew. He had every right to be angry with me, though. Furious even. And I couldn’t stop myself from trying to stay ahead of it.
I had my own reason to be pissed off anyway.
“How dare you?” I hissed.
He bent his neck, dipping his chin, pressing the dull knife more firmly against his throat.
“How dare I what, Valentina Moscatelli?”
I winced, then corrected my expression.
“How dare you show up here with her.”
Tears burned my eyelids, but I willed them away.
“I should slit your throat and let you bleed out on this floor for betraying me like that. Were you the one who called my family? Did you set this up to get me out of the way? So she could raise my son?”
Stefano pushed my hand down and took the knife.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
His dark eyes flashed in warning behind his mask.
“Once again, you’ve fucking lied to me about a life-or-death situation. Now you want to blame the mess you created on me? I don’t fucking think so, not this time, woman.”
“You brought her here to rub it in my face,” I shouted. “Why else would you break the treaty? No, wait—you probably got the Commission’s permission. Why else would you leave our son in New York without a parent, huh?”
He blinked, then frowned. “You think I betrayed you? If anything, you betrayed me. You lied about your name, your family, why you left me, everything, all lies.”
While he kept his voice low, his tone still seethed with fury. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me against his chest.
“I don’t even know who the fuck you are right now or what I’m supposed to call you.”
I yanked myself free. Then, while absently rubbing my left wrist, I remembered to subdue my expression. His grip wouldn’t have hurt as much if Aris hadn’t twisted the same wrist a few hours earlier.
I couldn’t let Stefano see the bruises Aris had left on me, all the painful, dark patches, or the purple marks around the wound on my arm.
It would send Stefano into a full-blown fit of rage, much worse than what he expressed in his eyes already, and he would go after Aris. He might succeed in killing my sickass brother, but he might not make it out of Chicago alive, maybe not even out of the hotel. Enzo would be left all alone.
So I had to lie more.
An omission of truth… that sounded better.
“I had to lie,” I said.
“Bullshit,” Stefano snapped. “You had plenty of opportunities to tell me everything, but you chose the lies before me. You put me at risk and endangered our son’s life—and then I find you at a fucking party dressed like a high-end hooker trying to lure some rich Russian.”
He ran his finger over my breasts.
“Or maybe this is the backup plan, in case the Russians are no longer interested.”
“Fuck you,” I snarled.
“Ah, so that’s it… You’re dressed like this to catch some politician’s eye. Tempt him to the dark side. Drag him into your father’s debt with your perfect tits and seal the deal with that magic little cunt of yours.”
He brushed his fingers over the pearls and the ruby.
“Too bad you forgot something, Valerie.”
My vision blurred with another rush of hot tears.
It was bad enough he could see through the person I wanted to be, but now he stared at what Saul had made me… so no, I couldn’t let him see me cry. He didn’t get to talk to me like that and then witness the pain he caused.
I swallowed hard to push back the emotion.
“What’s that… what did I forget this time, Stefano? And you can call me Valentina now. That is my name.”
Stefano swept his gaze down the length of me, his fingers now following his eyes, tracing along my curves.
“You forgot this is mine. All of it.”
“I’m not yours,” I spat.
His mouth curled into a sinister grin.
“You’ve always been mine… Valentina. You let me fuck you even after I told you how it works with me. Mine. Only mine.”
“Stefano—”
“Mine.”
He slid the pearl choker higher on my throat while narrowing his eyes. So dark, so dangerous. And he knew to look for the bruises on my neck.
“The man who touched you, who marked you like this, dies by my hand. It won’t be quick. I’ll make it last. I’ll make him suffer a much greater level of pain than he inflicted on you before I let him have his death.”
I swallowed and shook my head.
“You can’t promise that.”
“But I can, little girl. I’ll watch the life fade from his eyes as he begs for the sweet release of death. Do you know why I can make that promise? Because you are mine.”
I pulled back, meaning to open the door, to send him away.
“I’m not. I wish I could be yours, but I can’t be. You should leave. Please, Stefano. You need to go before they?—”
He grabbed the back of my head and slammed his lips against mine, claiming me with a kiss that stole my words, my thoughts, my breath—and set my body on fire.
My mind fought, screaming for me to push him away, but I didn’t have the strength. I could only bring myself to grip the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer.
Then he broke the kiss and demanded my obedience.
“You belong to me. Repeat it,” he ordered.
I slipped my hands inside his jacket. It wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted all of him. I dragged my fingers lower, down to the front of his shirt, to the six hard ridges on his abdomen. I couldn’t not touch him.
“Repeat what?” I asked.
He surged forward, closing the gap between us, devouring my lips with his as he shoved me into one of the empty stalls, shut the door behind us, and locked it.
“Say you’re mine.”
The ladies’ room at the Palmer House had floor-to-ceiling wood panels and doors, making each stall feel like a cozy little room—a dangerous illusion of privacy.
I gave in to his kiss.
It would be the last time I felt his touch, tasted his kiss, or knew his kind of love, so I gave in just once more. I would let him do what he wanted with me.
Like every other addict in the world, I promised myself this would be the last time. I just needed to feel him, to let him make love to me, to let him claim me the way only he could.
One last time.
Only then could I give him up forever.
As if reading my mind, Stefano slid an arm around my waist to find the zipper on the back of my dress, then he opened it with a single pull, and the dress floated to the floor.
I stood before him in nothing but the silver mask, my long, black gloves, and the pearl and ruby choker.
Stefano tore off his mask and stepped back, taking in the sight of my bare body as if he wanted to memorize every curve. The heat in his eyes faded when his gaze landed on the mottled black-and-purple flesh covering my ribs.
An icy rage replaced the heat.
He reached out and brushed his fingers over the proof of my family’s abuse, his touch almost ghostly in its tenderness.
His gaze dropped to the burn on my thigh.
“Which one of them did this to you?”
“It’s nothing.”
What a lie. It hurt like fucking hell.
What else could I say?
Most of the bruises were from the first night after I told Aris to go fuck himself—he came back to my room a few hours after Marco left to have his fun.
The burn, though, was fresh.
Aris’s work again. I’d refused to help him iron his shirt, and his explosive reaction included literally ironing my leg instead of his shirt. Thankfully, the iron hadn’t reached full heat, so the burn wouldn’t leave a lasting mark.
That didn’t mean it wasn’t painful.
Stefano seemed unable to look away from my torso, but honestly, that one looked worse than it felt. A bruised ribcage, courtesy of Saul.
He’d hit me with his fist, two quick jabs to the same spot, because I had the audacity to ask what would happen if the Russians didn’t want me.
Saul’s wordless message had been perfectly clear.
If the Russians refused me, if I couldn’t entice a suitable replacement, the bruises covering my ribs would cover every part of my body.
The threat didn’t really matter. I was certain if I went with the Russians, or any other man Saul deemed acceptable, bruises would eventually cover my body anyway.
A low growl rumbled in Stefano’s throat as he studied me.
“Who touched you?” he asked again.
I pushed him toward the stall door.
“Stefano, please. I need you to leave. Go home and raise our son to be better than this.” I gestured at my body. “Please. He needs his father to guide him. You’re so strong. Show him how to rise above all this.”
I picked up my dress, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
“Our son also needs his mother,” Stefano said.
Faster than I could track his movements, he grabbed my hand, forced me to drop the dress, and kissed me again, the taste of sweet champagne and dominance on his tongue.
Every time Stefano touched me, kissed me, looked at me for too long, my heart thrummed, my head spun, and my soul and my body ached for him. I craved this man like a drug.
“I need to hear you say it,” he said against my lips.
Bunching his crisp shirt fabric, I gripped it with my fists, wanting to get lost in the undeniable pull between us.
“What do you want me to say?”
I began working on the buttons of his shirt. I didn’t want it unbuttoned because I planned to fuck him next to a toilet, but because I needed to feel his skin. To lay my face on his chest. To feel his warmth on my cheek. To hear his heart beating vigorously in his chest.
“Say you’re mine,” he breathed onto my neck.
“But I’m not.”
My heart clenched around the truth behind my words.
Stefano slid his hand down and rolled my nipple between his fingers, creating a little sting. The good kind of sting.
“Say it.”
“No. I can’t say it. I want to, but it’s… saying it hurts too much. The lie physically hurts me.”
He swept his fingers down to softly trace over my ribcage and my waist. He pressed his erection against my stomach, nipping my skin and leaving sweet kisses on my neck.
“Say it,” he demanded.
His hot breath against my ear made my knees tremble.