Valentina
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The restaurant Lindsay chose is exactly her style, upscale but not pretentious, with dim lighting and booths tucked into corners where lawyers and politicians conduct business they don't want overheard.
I've been here before, back when my life was normal. I remember telling Lindsay she needed to stay away from some of the shady people she made deals with, so she didn’t risk losing her license to practice law. She doesn’t break any rules per se, but some of her tactics are strongly frowned upon.
Although now I feel like a hypocrite since I’m engaged to a mafia boss and not hating it as much as I should.
That was back when dinner with my best friend didn't require a shadow in a dark suit watching from across the room.
Nico, Salvatore's man, sits at the bar, nursing a drink he hasn't touched. He's doing a decent job of blending in, but Lindsay's sharp.
"Val!" Lindsay's already at the table, waving me over with the kind of enthusiasm that makes heads turn. She's in a blue power suit, fresh from court, her blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. "Get over here. I ordered us wine."
I slide into the booth across from her, and she immediately grabs my hands across the table.
"Okay, spill. Everything." Her eyes are searching my face like she's looking for bruises. "You've been weird for weeks. Canceling plans. Vague texts. And now you're engaged to some mystery man I've never even met?"
I've rehearsed this. Practiced in the mirror until the lies felt almost natural.
"It happened fast," I manage, forcing a smile. "I know it seems crazy,"
“It is crazy,” she interrupts. “But...,” I continue. “He's different, Linds. Special."
"Special." She's not buying it. "You, the woman who overanalyzes every first date for weeks before committing to a second, just fell madly in love with someone and agreed to marry him in, what, a month and a half?"
"Sometimes you just know."
"Bullshit."
I laugh, and it comes out more genuine than I expected. God, I've missed her. Missed having a normal moment like this one.
"Can we just... have a normal dinner? Please? I promise I'll tell you more when I can."
Lindsay studies me for a long moment, her prosecutor's gaze missing nothing. Then she sighs.
"Fine. But I'm not dropping this forever." She takes a long sip of wine.
"Now, I have a surprise for you."
"A surprise?"
"Don't look so terrified." She grins. "It's a good one. You know how you've been working on your novel for what? Three years and never seem to have time to find an agent to represent you? Or should I say" she raises an eyebrow, "you've been too afraid to see yourself win?"
My stomach drops. "Lindsay..."
"I may have mentioned it to someone." She's practically vibrating with excitement. "A literary agent. Daniel Hashworth. He's with Horizon they're huge, Val. Like, New York Times bestseller list huge."
"You didn't."
"I did. And he's here." She gestures toward the entrance, where a man is handing his coat to the hostess. "He wanted to meet you. Just a casual chat, no pressure. But Val, this could be your shot."
Oh my God. I have too much going on right now to deal with this.
I know she means well and under normal circumstances, I’d probably be jumping for joy.
Unfortunately, I have this marriage that I have to get through and I have so many secrets I’m keeping from her I don’t even know how I’ve been able to do it.
But there's another part of me, a part that's been buried under contracts and captivity and the constant weight of survival that feels something dangerously close to hope.
At least this is something that would be mine.
To have my book published and be an author in my own right would be a dream come true for me. But now is just… not the time.
"I'm going to kill you," I mutter.
"You're going to thank me when your book is featured all over the world." She waves the man over. "Daniel! Over here!"
Daniel Ashworth is attractive in that polished, metropolitan way.
He’s wearing a tan designer suit, which is a change from the last few weeks of seeing men in black all day every day.
He has perfectly styled blonde hair and a smile that's probably closed a thousand deals.
He slides into the booth next to Lindsay, across from me, and extends his hand.
"Valentina. I've heard wonderful things."
"Lindsay exaggerates." I shake his hand. His grip lingers a beat too long.
“She tells me you’re working on a literary piece. About what it means to protect stories that would otherwise be lost.”
His eyes sparkle with interest. "I'd love to hear more about it."
We talk. Or rather, he talks, and I try to keep up while my mind races. He asks about my writing process, my inspirations, my timeline. He leans in when I speak, his attention so focused it feels almost invasive.
"Your friend was right," he says, swirling his whiskey. "You have something special. I can tell just from talking to you."
"You haven't even read my work."
"I'm good at reading people." His smile sharpens. "I know talent when I see it. And I see... a lot of potential here."
His eyes drop to my neckline, lingering there for just a moment too long. This is uncomfortable.
I shift uncomfortably, pulling my cardigan tighter. Lindsay, who’s been texting for the last few minutes, finally puts her phone down only for it to buzz again. She glances at it with a frown.
"Shit. I have to take this, it’s for a hearing tomorrow." She's already sliding out of the booth. "Five minutes, I swear. Daniel, be nice."
"Always," he says smoothly.
The moment she's gone, the energy shifts.
Daniel moves closer, his arm stretching along the back of the booth behind me. Not touching, but close enough. Too close. My mind drifts to Nico who’s sitting at the bar, and then to Salvatore.
"So, Valentina." His voice drops lower. "Tell me more about this fiancé of yours. Lindsay mentioned you're engaged, but I don't see a ring."
"It's being sized."
"Convenient." He's definitely looking at my chest now. "You know, I work with a lot of writers. Mostly women. And I've found that the creative process is... intimate. It requires trust. Connection." "Is that so."
"Absolutely." His hand drops from the booth to my shoulder, fingers brushing against my bare skin. "I think you and I could have a very productive... partnership."
I go rigid. "I think you should move your hand."
"Don't be shy." He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. "I can open doors for you that you didn't even know existed. All you have to do is be... friendly."
I'm about to drive my elbow into his ribs when a shadow falls over the table.
"Touch her again, and die."
The voice is ice. Pure, lethal ice.
I look up, and Salvatore is standing at the edge of the booth, his face carved from stone. He's in all black as always. He’s glaring at Daniel's hand, where it rests on my shoulder, and the look in them promises violence.
Daniel's face goes pale. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"You have three seconds to take your hand off her before I remove it from your body." Salvatore's voice doesn't rise. Doesn't need to. "One."
Daniel's hand flies off my shoulder.
"Two."
"We were just talking," Daniel stammers, already scrambling out of the booth. "Business. Completely professional."
"Three."
But Daniel's already gone, practically sprinting toward the exit without looking back. Several diners are staring now, conversations dying as they take in the scene.
Salvatore doesn't seem to notice. His eyes find mine, dark and burning.
"We're leaving."
"Excuse me?" I stand, facing him. "I was handling that."
"You were handling it."
"Yes. I was about to handle his face with my elbow before you decided to play the possessive caveman."
A muscle ticks in his jaw. "He had his hands on you."
"And I was dealing with it,” I say trying to whisper like the damage isn’t already done. I don't need you to rescue me, Salvatore. I'm not some helpless—"
"Nico." He cuts me off, his voice clipped. "The car."
Nico appears out of nowhere, already moving toward the exit. Salvatore's hand closes around my elbow, firm but not painful, and he's steering me through the restaurant before I can protest.
"I can't just leave," I hiss. "Lindsay’s still here."
"She has been informed you weren't feeling well." His grip doesn't loosen. "She'll understand."
"She'll ask questions."
"Let her."
We're outside now, the cold night air hitting my flushed cheeks. A black sedan is already waiting at the curb, engine running. Salvatore opens the back door and waits.
I don't move.
"Get in the car, Valentina."
"Or what? You'll throw me over your shoulder like some kind of Neanderthal?"
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "Don't tempt me."
Lindsay suddenly appears, “Okay, Val, what’s going on here? Is this the guy you expect me to believe you’ve fallen madly in love within a matter of weeks? Salvatore Vitale?” She leans close to my ears “You do remember who he is right? The Mafia don?”
“Yes,” I rush out. I know who he is and yes he’s the guy. Lin, don’t worry, all is well, okay?”
She studies my face, clearly unconvinced. “Wait… is this the library guy?”
“Yes,” I admit. “But I’ll call you later and tell you everything.”
Her eyes narrow with concern. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I reassure her. But she turns and faces him, “Did you hurt her?” she asks him directly, but he doesn’t respond. “Lindsay, I already told you, no, he hasn’t. Look, I will call you, okay?” I hug her and convince her to leave this alone. She agrees to wait for my call tonight.
I get in the car to avoid it escalating with Lindsay, but when Salvatore turns around, she mouths to me, “What the fuck, are you okay?” “Yes,” I mouth back and smile. “I love you.” “I love you too.”
Salvatore slides in beside me, and the door closes with a soft thunk. The privacy partition is already up. We're alone in the dark backseat, the city lights sliding past the tinted windows. And then we’re gone. That was a fucking disaster.