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Valentina.
CHAPTER THREE
Valentina
“Dammit,”I mutter, hunching down to pick up my book. My nervous hands can’t stop fidgeting and shaking as the lines of print dance before my eyes.
I’m so wound up that even my trusty poetry book can’t calm me down.Probably because I’m about to meet Rafael Romano, the most terrifying fucking man in the country.
When my father insisted on expanding to the East Coast, I didn’t see any harm in it. We’ve been slowly spreading across the country, setting up warehouses and legitimate storefronts to build an easier pipeline for our less-than-legal products to move through.
The move made complete sense, but having the Romanos call a meeting on my first day in the city was pretty terrifying.
I’m sure they just want to cover their bases—find out what the Rossis are doing here, threaten me a little bit, normal mafia stuff.
I resolve to put my best foot forward and play nice with them. Trouble with the Romanos isn’t something we need right now.
As soon as I hear heavy footsteps pounding down the hallway, I tuck my book into my purse and suck in a deep breath.
Showtime.
Putting on my best sweet-but-will-kill-you smile, I turn to greet my lunch partner. Except instead of coming face-to-face with Rafael “The Wolf” Romano, I stare into Enzo’s shocked face.
“Lenny?”
The nickname instantly tumbles me backward into sweet memories of hot summer nights years ago. Back when I was happy and carefree.
Back when my only goals included becoming a prima ballerina and screwing Enzo in every secret, hidden place we could find.
“Don’t call me that,” I respond automatically. He grins, and I fall headfirst into those mossy green eyes and dimples. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m the head of the Romano family,” he answers, glancing around in confusion. “Where’s your uncle?”
"You're—how?"
"Rafael decided to retire. And who’s better to take over?" He gives me a half smile this time and asks about my uncle again.
“I’m… in charge now,” I say hesitantly, trying to wrap my mind around the prospect of Enzo as a don. My fingers rattle against the leather pants suffocating my thighs, and I subtly calm them into submission.
“So it’s true? Lev died?”
“No. Well, yes, but no.” I pause, not knowing how much to reveal.
As far as everyone knows, my father is dead. When his cancer started to spread aggressively, the doctors told him he only had a few weeks to live, so he promoted me.
He didn’t want our enemies to see a weak, sick man leading the Rossis. So, we held a closed-casket funeral for my dearly departed father and fake-cried for our loss while he watched TV upstairs.
I underwent the most rigorous training in the world, and within two months, I was leading the family. That was three years ago. Now, my father controls me like a little puppet from a private hospital bed in our home.
I guess he’s too tough for even cancer to take down.
“So then…?”
When I make zero moves to answer, Enzo eases the door closed and takes the seat opposite of me. I feel lightheaded. We haven’t been in the same room for over half a decade.
And the last time we were, he had me panting and screaming his name on the floor of a dance studio.
A blush creeps up my chest, and I pull my blazer closed, hoping he doesn’t notice. He does, of course.