Salvatore #2
Valentina leans back in her chair. “Maybe not major to you, but the person you’re spying on is probably pretty pissed off about it.”
Raffaele shrugs. “It’s as easy as pulling them off the wall or disabling the red cord. Unlike the main security system, the ones we put in the rooms are temporary. But we hide them well, in curtains, curtain rods, behind paintings. They blend right in.”
I catch the glint in her eyes, the way she files away every detail Raffaele shared. I know exactly what she’s doing. But I say nothing. Let her play her game. I’ll enjoy watching.
When she’s finished extracting information about the cameras, she pivots to Matteo, asking about some of the businesses she knows we own—particularly an old laundromat that never seems to have a single customer.
“Yeah, we launder money through there,” Matteo says casually. “Mostly for the mayor’s office.”
Valentina freezes, her wine glass halfway to her lips. “What?”
She’s shocked. She didn’t know her best friend’s daddy had dirty hands. She’d be surprised what most people would do for a few hundred grand.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Elio says with a smirk. “You do know we’re a crime family, right?”
“Oh, I got that when your brother kidnapped me,” she replies dryly. “I guess I just didn’t have the full picture,” she continues in a lower tone, looking away from the table. Elio chuckles.
The room shifts, and I realize something unexpected is happening. My brothers don’t mind her; you might even say they like her.
“It’s not ideal,” Raffaele says, “but we do things differently here.”
“I see,” Valentina says, eyes wide.
Matteo leans forward, swirling his wine. “If it’s any consolation, he’s never kidnapped anyone and forced them to be his bride before.” He glances at me with a knowing smirk. “As a matter of fact, I remember him saying he didn’t plan to marry at all. Said it would be a vulnerability. A weakness.”
“Well, how did I get so lucky then?” Valentina asks sarcastically.
“He saw you.” Matteo raises his glass in my direction. “And, well… here we are.”
Valentina looks at me, and her expression changes. I can see something softening behind those guarded eyes. I hold her gaze, daring her to look away first. She doesn’t. Not immediately. But slowly, her cheeks flush a deep pink, and she drops her eyes to her plate, blushing.
Valentina, Valentina, Valentina, I can stare at her beautiful all day long. When dinner ends, she says goodnight and heads to her room.
“Let me walk you to your room,” I offer.
“No, I don’t want to rush you. Feel free to talk to your brothers.”
She gets a head start, but the moment I get to bed, I turn on the feed to her room. The screen flickers to life, and I find her standing on a chair, searching through the window curtains with determined focus.
I text her: “What are you doing?”
I watch her glance at her phone, read my message, and deliberately ignore it. She knows I’m watching. That’s the point.
She searches everywhere, running her hands along the curtain rods, behind the drapes. And then—a smile. “Gotcha!” she says triumphantly as she yanks the first camera from it’s hiding spot behind the curtain.
Then another one, hidden behind an old painting.
There’s only one more, the one that shows just a fraction of the room. She searches for it, circling the space with narrowed eyes. For a moment, I think she won’t find it.
Then she stops in front of the floor lamp. Examines it. Smiles.
I expect her to yank it out immediately, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans in close, staring directly into the lens. Her green eyes fill my screen, fierce and victorious. Then she sticks her tongue out at me, like a child, like my queen, before ripping the camera free.
No more cameras, no more feed.
“I should punish you for that.”
“I told you, no cameras. If you want to punish me… you know where to find me.”
Fuck. Oh, Valentina, if only you knew what I want to do to you right now. My cock twitches at the thought of her wet center and the way she tasted in my mouth in that garden.
I sit there for a long moment, trying to decide what to do with this woman of mine, when a text comes through.
Goodnight, Salvatore.
I reply right away.
Well played, Valentina, well played.
* * *
I set the phone down, still half-smiling, and that's when Raffaele's message comes through.
Something you need to see. Not urgent. But tonight.
From Raffaele, "not urgent" means it won't get anyone killed in the next twelve hours. Everything else is relative.
He's waiting in my study with a folder and the particular stillness he gets when he's already decided how he feels about something but is giving me the courtesy of reaching my own conclusion.
"The prosecutor," he says. No preamble. He sets the folder on the desk.
I open it.
The name at the top of the federal case file reads Assistant District Attorney Lindsay Beaumont.
Below it, organized with methodical precision that tells me she has been building this for a long time, are financial records, shell company registrations, property transfers, and surveillance photographs.
Photographs of our men. Our buildings. Three of our front businesses named by their actual function, not their legal cover.
She doesn't have everything. But she has more than she should.
"How long?" I ask.
"Eighteen months. Maybe longer." Raffaele's jaw is set. "She's been careful. No leaks to our contacts, no courthouse gossip. She's been running it quiet."
Lindsay. Valentina's best friend. The woman she calls every few days, whose voice relaxes her in a way that even I haven't managed to reach yet.
I close the folder.
The case is a problem. A manageable one, but a problem, nonetheless. I have lawyers for exactly this, and judges who would quietly bury a file like this before it reached a grand jury. That part doesn't concern me.
What concerns me is Valentina.
She doesn't know. She's upstairs right now, having just ripped my cameras off her wall and told me to come find her if I want to punish her for it, completely unaware that her best friend has spent a year and a half building a federal case against the man she is weeks from marrying.
"Put a watch on it," I tell Raffaele. "Passive only. I don't want her touched, followed, or pressured. Not one of our people goes near her."
He doesn't argue, but his expression asks the question anyway.
"She's Valentina's close friend.”
Raffaele rolls his eyes. “Don’t let this get too far, brother. Father has only been gone two years, and everyone is watching your every fucking move, especially Shadow.” I heed his warning but I don’t say anything. He picks up the folder and leaves.
I stay at my desk long after, thinking about the woman upstairs. The woman I brought here fully intending to ruin. Now I’m the one standing in the wreckage.
And damn if I don’t want more of it.