Valentina #2
"In thirty-six years, Mr. Vitale has never brought a woman to this estate. Not once." She pauses. "Until you."
"What about—"
"Not for business. Not for pleasure. Not even for his brothers to meet." Her voice is quiet, certain. "You're the first. That should tell you something."
She's gone before I can ask anything else.
Before I could ask what that meant, she was gone, and I'm alone with butterflies, a five-thousand-dollar dress, and the growing realization that there's nowhere in my life he hasn't already reached.
I look at my phone.
Lindsay: Val, PLEASE. I'm getting worried.
I sink onto the bed and dial before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers on the first ring. "Valentina. Oh my God, finally."
"Hey, Linds." I force my voice to sound normal. Casual. "I'm so sorry, I should have called sooner."
"Where the hell have you been? Your mom gave me some vague bullshit about you needing space, and you haven't been to work."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry." I close my eyes, hating every word that comes next. "I... I needed to get away for a bit. Family stuff. It's complicated."
"Complicated how?" Her voice sharpens with concern. "Val, are you in trouble?"
Yes.
"No," I lie. "I'm fine. Really. I just need some time to think."
"Think about what?"
"About... everything. My life. Where I'm going." The lies are heavy on my tongue. "I might be making some changes soon. Big ones."
She doesn't say anything at first.
Then: "You're scaring me."
"Don't be scared. I promise I'm okay. I'll explain everything soon. I just need you to trust me for now."
"Valentina—"
"Please, Linds... give me a little time. A week. Maybe twelve. Then we'll talk. I promise."
Another long pause.
"You swear you're safe?" she asks quietly.
The question lands deeper than she knows.
Am I safe?
I think about Salvatore's promise. Know that I will never hurt you.
I think about the contract. The cameras. The guards.
I think about the way he looks at me.
"Yeah," I whisper. "I'm safe."
It's not entirely a lie.
"Okay," Lindsay says finally, though she doesn't sound convinced. "But if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me immediately. I don't care what time it is."
"I will. I love you."
"Love you too. And Val?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you're dealing with... you don't have to deal with it alone. Remember that."
"I know."
We disconnect, but I sit there for a long moment, phone pressed to my ears, throat tight with unshed tears.
Then I stand and look at the red dress hanging on the chaise.
My phone buzzes with a new text from my mother:
Mom: Hold onto your power.
* * *
Dinner is served on the terrace overlooking the gardens, candles flickering in the warm night air. The food is exquisite. I barely taste it.
I sit alone at the table, robe tied loosely, posture perfect. Not submissive, nor defiant, controlled. If he's watching, I won't give him tears. I won't give him fear. I will sit here confidently, eat my dinner, and hold onto whatever power I have left.
I lift my wine glass and just as the glass touches my bottom lip, my phone buzzes.
SV: Turn around.
My pulse jumps but I don't move.
SV: Now, Valentina.
My fingers curl against the table. I turn and see him standing at the edge of the terrace, half in shadow, jacket gone, sleeves rolled, displaying the multiple tattoos that I find much more attractive than I should, that same predatory stillness coiled in his body like he's been there the entire time. Watching.
My breath catches.
"You're not supposed to be here." I cross my arms.
His gaze drags over me, slowly. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
I rise to my feet, heart hammering. "Well, you said you wouldn't be."
"I changed my mind. I brought you something."
He approaches unhurriedly, gaze never leaving mine until he reaches me.
He stops too close, his presence swallowing the air between us. His mouth curves, and then, he hands me a book. The Prince.
I don't take it right away. Our eyes lock instead, and my heart pounds. I don't look away. Neither does he. The moment lingers longer than it should.
Then I reach for the book. My fingers brush his. And he doesn't let go.
I pause, my hand still on it, and when I glance up at him, his gaze is already on me, steady, unreadable.
I tighten my grip.
So does he.
For a second, neither of us moves. The book stays between us, his hand still covering mine, like he's waiting to see what I'll do.
I pull.
He doesn't let go.
Not right away.
Just long enough to make it feel intentional. My pulse picks up.
I tug again, firmer this time, and he finally releases it. The book slides into my hand, but his fingers drag slightly against mine as he lets go.
It shouldn't matter. But it does. His gaze drops to my mouth, and my breath catches before I can stop it.
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I hate that he probably sees it.
"I believe this was recommended for you, not me."
"You said you'd read it again. Since I'm done with it, you can have mine."
"You finished it already?" I glance up at him, unable to help it. "When do you have time to read between all your… extracurricular activities?"
I let the pause hang there, loaded with everything I saw.
His jaw tightens. "What you saw that night isn't the norm."
"Just the occasional torture session then. Good to know."
"Valentina." My name is a warning, low and rough.
He leans forward, and suddenly the space between us feels thin.
"I've been head of this family for two years. Every vulture in the tristate area sees that as weakness. An opening to tear apart what my father built, everything I’ve built.
" His eyes lock on mine, dark and uncompromising.
"They won't get the chance. But I have to rule with a heavy hand to ensure my people stay protected. That you stay protected."
"I was perfectly safe before you dragged me into your world."
"No." The single word cuts through the air like a blade. "You were oblivious. There's a difference. There is nowhere in this world that is truly safe, tesoro. But here, under my protection, you're as close as you'll ever get."
"How reassuring," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I feel so much better now."
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. "You should."
I open the cover of the book and immediately notice the library seal stamped inside.
I lift a brow. "Did you get your library card?"
"Something like that."
"Hm." I close the book slowly, meeting his eyes. "I'll be sure to bill you for it."
"Soon," he says, voice low and certain, "every penny I have will be yours anyway. Consider it paid."
The words land between us like a vow. My stomach flips.
"Or you could check it out and return it like a normal person."
His mouth curves with satisfaction.
"I've never been accused of being normal."
He moves a step closer.
"You wore the robe," he says. "And only the robe." He reaches out slowly, giving me time to step back, but I don't. "Yes, I got your message. Was that meant to provoke me?"
"Yes," I confess.
"So, you're naked underneath?"
"I was told I'd be dining alone. No need to dress up for myself."
"Seems like that was a mistake," he murmurs.
My pulse jumps.
His fingers find the silk tie against my waist. One slow tug and the knot unravels. The robe falls open, and the cool air meets my bare skin. I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with nudity and everything to do with the way he looks at me. Not quickly, not hungrily, but slowly.
I wore nothing beneath the robe. He told me to wear lingerie. I gave him this.
His gaze drops to my breasts, now framed by parted silk. He doesn't rush, just looks.
When his eyes finally lift to mine, my breath catches. Heat floods through me.
The robe slips further down my shoulders, the panels parting completely. The book slips from my fingers, forgotten, falling to the stone terrace with a soft thud.
I'm bare before him, but I refuse to cover myself. Refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
He steps closer, close enough that the heat of his body radiates against me, close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the faint musk of his cologne. A shiver runs through me despite the warm night air.
"You disobeyed me," he murmurs.
I lift my chin, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. "You don't own me," I whisper, breathless.
The corner of his mouth curves.
Before I can retort, his hand fists in the fabric. One violent jerk, and the silk tears away from my body, the sound of ripping fabric obscene in the quiet night. The robe falls in a puddle at my feet.
His breath comes harder now, his chest rising and falling faster.