Valentina
Marco never slowed. “Keep moving.”
“Try harder,” he ordered. Even now, apparently, he was an asshole. She would have told him so if she’d had enough breath. Marco reached the kitchen, released her hand long enough to shove open a narrow door near the pantry, and then grabbed her again. “Down.”
“Basement,” he said. “Don’t ask questions, just go.”
“That sounds like exactly where people die in horror movies,” she whispered.
Marco looked at her. “Would you prefer the bullets?”
She rolled her eyes at him and went down the stairs.
“Basement it is,” she grumbled. He followed, closing the door above them.
Darkness swallowed everything, and Valentina froze.
She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
She could barely breathe before Marco’s hand settled against the middle of her back.
“Keep going,” he ordered.
“I can’t see,” she spat.
“I can,” he said. God, he sounded like he was bragging.
“Of course you can.” His hand pressed slightly harder against the curve of her back.
He wasn’t hurting her, but trying to guide her, and for some ridiculous reason, that helped.
She kept moving. At the bottom, Marco reached past her and something clicked.
A thin red emergency light flickered to life, and Valentina looked around.
There were concrete walls, storage shelves, a furnace, and another steel door hidden behind a cabinet.
She stared at it. “You people have escape tunnels?”
Marco moved the cabinet aside. “We prefer calling them contingency routes.”
“That’s an escape tunnel with better branding,” she said. His mouth twitched—actually twitched. Was he smiling right now while men were trying to kill them?
He unlocked the steel door. “Inside,” he ordered.
Valentina didn’t move. “What’s through there?”
“An exit,” he said.
“An exit to where?” she asked.
“Two houses over,” he explained.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why would we go two houses over?”
Marco looked at her like she’d asked why the sky was blue.
“Because safe houses are useless if they only have one way out. Or if someone shoots holes in the current safehouse. So, we’re going two houses over to get the hell out of here.
” That made irritating amounts of sense.
There was another explosion that sounded upstairs, and Valentina jumped.
Marco’s expression changed instantly, and the amusement disappeared. “Move.” She did as he ordered. The passageway was made of narrow concrete walls, and it was cold.
Marco stayed close behind her, with his gun in one hand, and the other occasionally brushing her back to keep her moving.
Valentina hated how much she noticed his every touch.
That was insanity. Someone was trying to murder her, and this was not the time to notice Marco Camorra’s hands or his shoulders.
Or the fact that he had thrown himself over her when the first bullets came through the window.
She pushed the thought away as they reached another steel door.
Marco stopped her. “Stay here.”
Valentina turned to look at him. “Absolutely not.”
His brows lifted. “You’re arguing now?”
“You’re not leaving me alone in a tunnel,” she insisted.
“I’m checking the exit,” he said.
“And if you get shot?” she asked.
His expression went completely blank. Valentina realized what she’d said. Marco slowly tilted his head. “Worried about me already?”
“No,” she breathed.
“Sounded like it,” he said.
“I’m worried about being trapped underground with your corpse blocking the door,” she explained.
His mouth curved. “Heartwarming.”
“Check the exit,” she grumbled. He turned away, and Valentina exhaled. What the hell was wrong with her?
Marco cracked the door open and waited for any sounds that would alert him to danger. Then, he stepped outside. It was only for a few seconds, but Valentina’s heart started hammering in her chest again.
“Marco,” she whispered. She heard nothing. Valentina moved closer to the doorway and a hand shot through. Valentina gasped as Marco caught her wrist.
“What did I say?” he asked.
She smacked his arm. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“You were supposed to stay put,” he said.
“You were gone too long,” she challenged.
“I was gone twelve seconds,” he said.
“Well, it felt longer,” she said.
Something in his expression changed, and he released her. “It’s clear.” Valentina followed him out. They emerged into the garage of another house, and a black SUV waited inside. Marco pulled out his phone, and there was no signal.
“Jammer,” he muttered. “They’re blocking cellular traffic around the safehouse.”
Valentina’s stomach dropped. “That sounds professional, right?”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“You keep agreeing with me, as though it should make me feel better.”
“It shouldn’t,” he said. At least he was honest. Marco opened the passenger door to the SUV and whispered to her, “Get in.” Valentina climbed inside as he circled the SUV, got behind the wheel, and pulled a second phone from the center console.
She stared. “How many phones do you own?”
“Enough,” he growled.
“Normal people have one,” she said.
“Normal people aren’t trying to keep you alive.” That shut her up, because he was right. The man currently trying to keep her alive wasn’t normal at all. Marco started the engine, and the garage door opened. He waited until it was barely high enough for the SUV to clear, then accelerated out.
Valentina grabbed the door handle. “You could have warned me.”
“You could wear a seat belt,” he said.
She snapped it into place. “Happy?”
“Not particularly.” He drove three blocks before touching the second phone. A call connected immediately through the car speakers.
“Marco?” a man answered.
“We’re out,” Marco said. Valentina heard something shift on the other end of the call.
“How bad is it?” the man asked.
“Safehouse is burned to the ground,” Marco said.
“Casualties?” the man asked.
“Don’t know yet,” Marco admitted.
“Is Valentina with you?” the man questioned.
Marco glanced at her. “Yeah, she’s alive for now.”
Valentina frowned at him. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me.”
The man ignored her. “Bring her to the estate.”
“No.” Valentina looked at Marco, and the man on the other end of the call went silent.
“What did you just say?” he asked.
“I’m not bringing her anywhere predictable, Luca,” Marco said. She had only met Luca Camorra once, but he seemed like the type of man that no one said no to.
“It’s secure,” Luca insisted.
“So was the safehouse,” Marco countered.
Luca’s voice hardened. “You think we have a leak?” he asked.
Marco’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I know we have a leak.” Valentina’s stomach twisted. Someone inside the Camorra family, someone who knew where she was, also knew enough to send armed men after her before Marco could even question her.
Luca said, “Where are you going?”
“I’m not telling you over the phone,” Marco said.
There was a pause, and Valentina was sure that Luca was about to chew Marco out for disobeying him again, but he didn’t. “Good, call when you land somewhere safe.” Marco disconnected the call.
Valentina stared at him. “You didn’t tell the head of your family where you’re taking me.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said.
“Should I be concerned?” she asked.
“Yes.” Marco glanced over at her. “But not about me.” That should not have been reassuring, but it was.
Valentina looked out the window. Queens slid past in flashes of streetlights and closed storefronts.
She had no idea where they were going, no idea who had tried to take her earlier, no idea who had just shot up a Camorra safehouse, and no idea why the encryption on her father’s ledger belonged to Marco.
That thought hit harder now that there were no bullets distracting her.
Valentina pressed her hands into her lap.
Her father had been dead for six years. She had spent six years sorting through the pieces he left behind--bank statements, old contracts, boxes she couldn’t bring herself to throw away, and a safe-deposit box she hadn’t even known existed until an attorney contacted her three weeks ago.
And inside sat a ledger and a thumb drive that didn’t belong to her father.
Except apparently, they did—or someone wanted her to believe they did.
Marco looked over at her. “You’re awfully quiet.”
She frowned. “I’m thinking.”
“Should I be worried now?” he asked. She gave him a look, and he almost smiled again.
Valentina turned toward him. “Did you know my father?”
Marco’s amusement disappeared. “No.”
“You hesitated when I asked you that before,” she reminded.
“I was considering the possibility that I had met him, and just didn’t remember,” Marco said.
“And did you remember anything?” she asked.
“No,” he breathed. “I didn’t.”
“My father’s name was Gabriel Russo,” she said. Marco’s fingers tightened on the wheel, and she noticed his reaction. It was tiny, but real. “You know the name, don’t you?” she asked.
“I’ve heard it,” he admitted.
Her heart kicked. “Where?”
Marco stared at the road. “This isn’t the time or place to talk about this.”
“It’s absolutely the time, unless you have something better to do, Marco,” she said.
“Valentina,” he warned.
His gaze flicked to hers, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “If men are shooting at me because of something my father left behind, then you don’t get to decide if I should wait for answers.”
Marco’s jaw tightened. “You want the truth?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Your father’s name appeared in one of our internal financial archives.”
She sucked in her breath. “When?”
“Years ago,” he said.
“For what?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “Because if I knew, I’d tell you.”
She laughed without humor. “You’re a mafia consigliere.”
“Yes, I am,” he admitted.
“Lying is practically your job.”
“No.” He turned onto another street. “Making other people believe my version of the truth is my job.”
Valentina stared at him. “That is somehow worse.”
“Probably,” he said with a shrug.