Chapter 12
Enzo
“There’s no mistress or surprise councilman this time, is there?” Valentina asked as she breezed into my apartment.
“Not this time. Now you see the beauty of scheduling a meeting with me instead of showing up unannounced,” I said pointedly.
She spun around on her heel to face me, a gleam in her blue eyes that was playful yet dangerous at the same time.
With Valentina, it could be very hard to tell if she was sending an invitation or delivering a warning.
Could have been both. Beautiful flowers sometimes came with deadly thorns.
“Don’t tell me that we’ll have to schedule all of our time together after we’re married.
This is turning out to be even more transactional than I anticipated. ”
The slim chance that she might actually want to spend time with me got my heart racing for some inexplicable fucking reason. “Thought you’d want to keep things transactional. Reduce the amount of time we’d have to spend with each other.”
She scoffed. “On the contrary, I want to keep you close at all times.”
“Warming up to me?” I asked, flashing her a lazy grin as I approached her slowly. At least now I knew that our marriage wouldn’t be boring.
“Hardly,” she said, shutting me down immediately. “It’s just that I plan to keep an eye on you. Along with the rest of your treacherous family.”
“We’re going to have to learn to trust each other at some point,” I told her, pushing past the sting of disappointment over the actual reason she’d seemed eager to spend time with me.
“When hell freezes over,” she said, holding out one of the notebooks she was carrying in her hands.
“I suspect marrying you will be its own hell,” I muttered, reluctantly taking the notebook.
“Torture, I assure you.” She gave me a self-satisfied smile.
Fuck, I’d never seen her smile before. Infuriating as it was to see that conceited expression on her face, that smile was dazzling. Gone was the pout on those luscious, full lips. The half-smile that replaced the usual pout made my heart slam against my ribcage.
Suddenly the smug expression became something more open.
A widening smile that was like the appearance of sunshine on a cold winter’s day.
A quirk of the corners of her mouth, a flash of perfect teeth.
Top teeth only, which transformed beautiful Valentina from unapproachably stunning to, frankly, endearingly lovely.
Fucking hell, the ice queen was thawing.
Granted, she was smiling about torturing me, but still.
A genuine smile that made her eyes light up was worth seeing.
I didn’t want to risk drawing attention to her smile because I sensed she’d bite my fucking head off for commenting, so I held up the notebook. “What’s this?”
“I’m not going to write two copies of whatever we decide for our wedding plans,” she said.
Right. Our wedding plans. The reason she was back in my condo, just three days after trying to bribe her way out of this marriage.
Maybe her father had gotten her to accept the inevitable because she had contacted me this morning to arrange this afternoon’s...
whatever the hell this was. Something about her old man wanting us to get on the same page about a location, a reception, and a wedding guest list. The boring bullshit I’d tried to get out of.
“I’ll keep everything in here,” I said, tapping on my temple.
She shrugged and took the notebook from me. “Suit yourself.”
I gestured for her to take a seat in the open concept living room and she obliged, sinking down into the leather sofa.
As she crossed those long, shapely legs, I had to tear my gaze away.
“There’s shrimp pasta alfredo and wine if you missed lunch,” I said.
“Made a version without shrimp if you’re allergic. ”
I needed to make this session feel like a date somehow.
If our third encounter was going to be the excruciating, dull business of making wedding plans, I was at least going to make this memorable for her.
While Valentina fascinated me and could never bore any man, it was obvious we were both going to find the planning part of the wedding to be extra tedious.
That fueled the need to turn this into a date of sorts.
My sausages had impressed her last time no matter how much she’d protested.
Pasta might do the trick this time around.
“Sounds great,” she said, flipping open her notebook. “And definitely not allergic.”
“Red wine or white?” I asked, heading toward the kitchen. “Let me guess. Red.”
When I got to the kitchen, I noticed Valentina frowning at me from her seat in the living room.
“Don’t say white just to be contrarian,” I said, confident that I’d guessed correctly.
That got a soft laugh out of her. “Am I that obviously a red wine girl?”
“Yeah. Feel like a blood red’s more your style,” I said, grabbing a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino.
She paused. “Wait, red doesn’t go with fettuccini alfredo does it?”
“Forget the rules,” I said as I picked up a pair of wine glasses and strode back over to her.
After I poured the wine for us, I headed back into the kitchen to get the food I’d spent the morning making.
I had fucked up the pasta the first time, but my fiancée didn’t need to know that.
I returned to the living room with plates, utensils, napkins, and a giant bowl of shrimp alfredo pasta that I set on the coffee table between us.
As I started to dish out the pasta for us, Valentina stopped to stare at me.
“Are you a secret chef?” she asked before taking several sips of wine.
“Aren’t all Italians?” I set the plate on the table in front of her before taking a seat in the opposite sofa. “I’ve got five meals in my repertoire, tops.”
“Still, it’s impressive. I can’t even boil water,” she said. “Guess I’m not much of an Italian.”
I laughed. “Not the domestic type, I take it.”
“If that’s a requirement, you’re going to have to hire a cook and a maid. I don’t have any domestic skills,” she said. “I do know how to wash out blood stains though.”
“Then you’ll be the perfect mafia wife,” I said, shrugging off my jacket.
A faint smile played on her lips and she set both the notebook and the wine glass aside, all interest in them gone as she reached for the fork on the napkin by her plate.
I knew she’d never be able to resist my famous alfredo pasta. Nobody could.
She twirled her fork, then lifted it to take a bite of the pasta. Her eyes closed and she let out a little sigh of pleasure. That was good for my ego. “Wow, this is delicious.”
I rolled up my sleeves and started to dish out my share of the pasta. “Glad you approve.”
“Let me guess, you hunted the shrimp,” she said mischievously.
“Nah. Made the pasta from scratch though.”
Her eyes widened. “Like from flour?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“Maybe you’re more cultured than I realized,” she said.
“You’ll take that back when you see me butcher an actual pig,” I warned gruffly.
Valentina rolled her eyes but she was still smiling. “Guess my blood stain skills will come in handy then.”
“Do you want a cultured man?” I asked her. “Is that what you’re looking for in a husband?”
She stilled. Went silent for several moments, her smile vanishing. Fuck, I hated being responsible for the pain in her eyes. Seeing her like that felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. Finally she answered, “I want a man I can talk to. A man I can tell everything to.”
I detected a sad note in her voice, and dammit to hell, I had to fight the urge to take her in my arms. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her vulnerable, but seeing her in this state actually made me feel sympathy for her.
She might have been surrounded by family who were part of the criminal underworld, but a woman in her position couldn’t show any vulnerabilities.
She’d likely talk business with her loved ones and nothing else.
That meant she didn’t share her hopes or fears.
Foolishly, I hadn’t thought she was capable of having either hopes or fears, but as it turned out, even a woman as vicious and cutthroat as Valentina Romano had something resembling a heart after all.
Or maybe it was just the wine doing the talking for her.
I wanted to suggest that she could trust me enough to open up.
But that was a lie that even I couldn’t tell right now.
While my old man wanted me to win her over ASAP, she’d get suspicious if pushed too hard too quickly.
I had only one shot at getting her to truly want this marriage.
Now that she seemed to have grudgingly accepted our engagement, I had to make her desperate to marry me.
Better a nudge than a push right now. I glanced over at Valentina, my chest tightening as guilt surged through me. Pity that I had to play with her emotions like this. “We’ll have years to get there.”
“You sound extremely optimistic about our future prospects.” She reached for her glass of wine, bringing it to her lips.
“This can either be a marriage or it can be a battle, Valentina,” I said firmly.
“Why not both?” Without waiting for an answer from me, she took a drink of the red wine.
That got a wry smile out of me. She was right about one thing—there was no chance of me or any man domesticating her.
Not that I expected her to be the docile sort.
No use trying to bring an untamable woman to heel.
While pointlessly trying to dominate her wasn’t worth the hassle, I was going to relish winning her over and getting her to trust me.
I planned on achieving the impossible—gaining my enemy’s loyalty. Through her, I’d build my own power.