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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Valentina

“Good girl, tell me what you want,” he commands. “I need to hear it.”

I moan, low and desperate, pulling him closer.

“No, Lenny, you have to tell me what you want,” he whispers, nipping my ear lobe. His fingers gently stroke my inner thigh, so close yet much too far. “Learn to speak for yourself.”

“You,” I groan. “I only want you.”

I wake with a start, my breath coming in fast and hot. My body is drenched in sweat, even though it’s a bitterly cold morning.

I’m uncomfortably turned on, I realize, as I slide my hands down my body. Gently, I stroke my rock-hard nipples, willing them to calm down.

I need to stop having these dreams about him.

Although they’re not just dreams. Ever since the night at his apartment, long-forgotten memories have been resurfacing as dreams, haunting my soul. Every morning, I wake up either aggressively horny or completely despondent.

I roll over and check my phone—five missed calls from Enzo and one from my father. Two people that have a strong pull on me, in very different ways. Deciding I don’t want to speak to either of them, I force myself out of my warm bed and into the shower.

When I stumble down the stairs in search of coffee, Uncle Luigi is already there. He slides a full, steaming cup toward me and raises his eyebrows.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I reply bitterly, taking a sip. “Been trying out a new skincare routine.”

“Go back to the old one.” He smirks, looking back down at his phone. “Still pining over that boy?”

“Luigi, I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl in a YA novel, and he’s not a boy.” I sigh.

“So you are pining, then?”

Well, he’s got me there. I can’t stop thinking about Enzo, and it’s even harder to push him out of my mind when he calls me twenty times a day—not that I ever pick up.

“Any fun new surprises from The8?” I ask, changing the subject. Luigi puts his phone down, rubbing his temples.

“They’re creative, I’ll give them that,” he finally says. “Creative and so very frustrating.”

“What happened now?”

“Come on,” he says, pulling me up from the table. “You need to see it to believe it.”

We head through the house to the front door, which we rarely use. I’m fully expecting it to be spray-painted again, high-school-prank style.

At first, I don’t see. The front lawn is covered in a thick layer of pristine, glistening snow, tall pines line the fence, the driveway is full of blood—wait, what?

“What the hell …”

I hop down from the porch and make my way to the stone driveway in front of the garage. Red liquid covers the area in large splatters, but when I spot the clothes, my heart fills with dread.

My black wool jacket, leather pants, sweater, and boots are laid out on the driveway in the shape of a body, covered in red liquid.

The outfit I wore the night I ended up in Enzo’s bed.

I stare, open-mouthed and in shock, at the gruesome scene. The message is clear—these people are out to kill me.

“And you didn’t tell me about this?”

“I mean, how do you explain this?” Luigi gestures to the mess. “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it myself. Imagine the shock I had driving up here this morning. And there was no trace of someone breaking in."

“This is fucked up.”

“I think it’s time we fill your father in, Valentina,” he pleads, eyeing me. “I don’t like where this is heading.”

“No!” I whirl around, pointing my finger at his chest. “You said we were going to lay low and?—”

“And see how it goes, yes, but it’s not going well, is it?”

“I need to talk to Enzo,” I say absent-mindedly, heading back to the house. This is far more serious than I thought.

“Valentina, we talked about this,” Luigi warns, tailing me. I stop in my tracks as my dream from this morning pops into my head again—not the sexy part, the motivational part.

Learn to speak for yourself.

Fine, Enzo, I will.

“Luigi, enough of this nonsense.” I spin around and stare him down. “I’m a full-grown adult capable of making my own decisions. Nothing you or my father say or do will convince me this is the wrong move. Enzo’s in this mess as well. They’re targeting him, too. We’ve tried to find out who’s behind this but have come up empty."

Luigi watches me quietly, deeply considering my words. Unlike my father, at least Uncle Luigi has some sense of logic and reason.

“The best thing we can do right now is work with him,” I continue, desperate to be heard. “My father isn’t going to solve this by locking me away in a beach house like I’m Malibu Barbie.”

When he doesn’t respond, I storm into the house in search of my phone. I dial Enzo’s number, and it goes straight to voicemail.

I try again and again, then remember the sun’s barely risen yet, and normal people might still be sleeping.

“Tiny,” Uncle Luigi calls, coming up behind me. “I’m with you on this.”

“You are?” I ask, surprised.

“Yes. Cavalli might be the only way out of this, although your father will hate it. I’ll talk to Lev and explain everything, but you might have to sit down with him one-on-one and finally address this issue soon.”

I nod, knowing that he’s right but too grateful to say anything else. My phone rings and Enzo’s name flashes across the screen.

“Enzo?” I gasp, answering immediately. Mussorgsky’s somber tones float through the speaker, and I scream in frustration.

I’m really starting to hate that fucking song.

I hang up and call right back, but a series of beeps and clicks are the only thing I hear. Okay, okay, I get it. You little bitches tapped my phone.

“I need to go see him,” I finally tell Luigi, shoving my useless phone in my pocket. “I’ll catch him at his office after I meet with the designers at the complex.”

“Be careful, will you?” he warns, giving me a light kiss on the forehead.

With a nod, I run upstairs to get ready for my meeting with the designer, but not before I shed a few tears at Luigi’s faith in me.

My meeting with the designers takes so long that the sky is already darkening as I step out of the complex. I scan the parking lot quickly—my new habit—and jog to my car.

Wanting to avoid Enzo’s apartment and the memories it holds, I speed through the hazy twilight to his office.

After getting lost a few times in the maze of one-way streets around his building, I finally find the parking garage entrance and head into the lobby. The clerk lets me know the Romano offices are on the top floor, and I sign in using a fake name, just in case.

My fingers drum restlessly against my thigh during the endless elevator ride to the top. I have no idea how he’s going to react to seeing me again.

He’s been calling every day, but I did storm out of his apartment like an asshole when he was just trying to help. I lean into the mirror, checking my lip gloss and fluffing up my hair a bit.

The doors finally slide open, and I slip into a cozy little waiting room. A large empty desk sits against one wall while comfortable sofas line the other.

Not knowing what to do, I sink into one of the sofas and hope someone emerges from the huge, imposing doors behind the desk.

I’m too nervous to even touch my phone, so I busy myself with inspecting every inch of the reception area. It’s bland, very beige, and not what I’d ever imagined for Enzo, but I guess it’s just a front anyway. Finally, a woman bustles out.

“Oh, did you have an appointment?” she asks, tugging her glasses down her nose.

“No, I just need to see Enzo,” I answer, peeling myself off the sofa. “Is he here?”

“Afraid you just missed him,” she says. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“No, that’s fine.” I sigh, heading to the elevator. This was a stupid idea—a waste of time, really.

I ride the elevator down feeling less nervous and more exhausted. I trudge through the parking garage, dialing Enzo once more, hoping it’ll connect. The clicks and beeps come through the line again, and I groan, shoving my phone into my purse.

A flash of red catches my attention, and I squint into the distance, trying to figure out what I’m seeing. A dark figure with long, shiny red hair stands near my car, seemingly unaware of my presence.

“Hey!” I call, confused. “What are you doing?”

The woman turns her head slightly—not enough for me to catch a good look at her face—and bolts. I take off after her, but come to a standstill when I reach my car.

She fucking slashed my tires! All four of them!

“Enough of this shit,” I growl, sprinting after the figure.

She seems to know the parking garage better than I, disappearing into shadows only to emerge farther away in a different lane. I try my best to keep up, yelling at her to stop the entire time.

When I finally burst outside, after a treacherous sprint up the steep drive, she seems to have disappeared into thin air. I lean down, hands on my knees, gasping for air.

Finally, when I’ve gotten some oxygen back in my lungs, I glance around wildly, trying to find that bright red hair.

A flash to my left catches my eye, and I watch her round the corner of the block, disappearing again. Not knowing what else to do, I break into a run after her.

I wish I had chosen more sensible footwear this morning, but my stupid, traitorous ego wanted to look good for Enzo. I slip and slide down the street in spiky stiletto boots, praying I can catch up with her.

I don’t know how I know it, but deep in my core, I’m convinced this is the woman behind everything.

She’s The8.