Page 15

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Enzo

I sink down to the floor with Valentina, prying the phone out of her hands, and read the message. As much as I’ve been trying to fight it, the message is clear.

This sick individual is somehow obsessed with me and sees Valentina as a threat.

The red hair is throwing me off—the crazy antics, too. I’ve never dated anyone that might stoop to such ballsy threats or have the skills to pull them off.

“Maybe it is some kind of stalker,” I muse, zooming in to check for any identifying marks. But all I see are clear stretches of milky white skin—no tattoos, no piercings, not even a unique birthmark that might single someone out.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Valentina shudders, taking a deep breath, “but at what point do we get the police involved?”

“We have some contacts in the police department.” I hesitate. “But I think we both know it’s better if we don’t get them involved.”

“You’re right,” she says, shaking the nervous tension out of her body. “I should go clean this mess up before Matilda gets back from California.”

“I’ll help.” I spring up, heading for my walk-in closet to avoid her inevitable protestations. I bypass the rows of perfectly tailored suits and throw on an old pair of jeans and a hoodie, happy to be in a more low-key outfit.

“Enzo.” Valentina appears in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t think I need your help, but thank you for offering.”

She slips into the closet and wraps her arms around me, giving me a soft kiss on the cheek. I gaze into her deep blue eyes, usually glittering pools of emotion, but they seem haunted lately.

“I know.” I kiss the three freckles on her nose. “It’s not an offer. In fact, it’s non-negotiable. I’m not letting you out of my sight, Lenny.”

“I was worried you’d say that,” she purrs, snuggling her face into my chest.

“Worried or hoping?”

“Just don’t get into a wild-west-style gun fight with my uncles, okay?”

I make no promises.

As we speed across the city to Valentina’s more suburban neighborhood, she grows increasingly tense. I see her fingers wildly fidgeting with her purse out of the corner of my eye, so I slide my hand onto her knee.

She interlaces her shaky fingers with mine and flashes me a grateful look. “Thanks for forcing me to take you along,” she whispers, staring at her feet.

“Nothing could stop me.” I smile at her.

We drive in silence through quiet streets. Large, stately homes from generations gone by line the wide, tree-lined streets. Most homes here have tall wrought-iron gates and high-tech security systems.

“I wonder if your neighbors’ cameras caught anything?” I muse as we breeze through the gates and follow the winding driveway to the home. Ours have clearly been tampered with, but I doubt The8 has hacked the cameras across the rest of the neighborhood.

“That’s an idea,” she agrees, looking hopeful for the first time today. “We could ask around.”

We pull up to the house, an army of Rossi men already assembled on the porch. Some are smoking and lounging on the outdoor furniture, others are checking out my car.

Luigi Rossi stands in the middle, giving me a stare cold enough to freeze my blood.

“Look, it’s my biggest fan,” I whisper in Lenny’s ear as we climb over a forgotten snowdrift to the front steps. She breaks into a hacking cough to cover her laugh, and I pet her back gently, a model of innocence.

“Valentina, can I speak to you alone for a moment?” Luigi grumbles, not even acknowledging me. She eyes me guiltily and ducks into the house, leaving me alone with the Rossi men.

For a minute or two, awkward silence stretches between us.

“Hey, I’m Enzo,” I finally say, waving lamely. I pray that most of these guys are too young to know the drama that happened six years ago.

“Dude, your car is sick,” one of the younger ones finally pipes up. “Can I see it?”

“Yeah, sure,” I tell him, gesturing to the car. “You can drive it for all I care.”

Surprised shouts echo from the porch, and a handful of Rossi boys run over to my beautiful Koenigsegg Regera. I toss one of them the keys, absent-mindedly praying they’ll give it back to me in one piece.

Which reminds me. I pull out my phone and quickly dial our usual tow guy, giving him Valentina’s car details and location. Then I call the auto shop and ask them to squeeze her car in today for a set of new tires.

Feeling a little more accomplished and a little less like a useless kid, I stride into the house. Valentina and Luigi look like they’ve come to an impasse, silently staring at each other. I stand awkwardly in the entryway, unsure how to proceed.

“Cavalli,” Luigi finally says. “Thank you for taking care of Valentina last night.”

Valentina’s frown transforms into a beautiful, beaming smile, and I choke out a shocked, “You’re welcome.”

“Are you ready to see the damage?” Luigi asks, already heading up the grand marble staircase. We follow behind him, shooting shocked expressions at each other behind his back. At the top, he spins around and eyes us gravely.

“It will be quite shocking for you, Valentina,” he says, clearing his throat. He looks like he’d like to be anywhere but here at this very moment. “It’s… pretty bad.”

“I can handle it,” she says, determination painted across her face. I grab her hand and squeeze, which doesn’t escape Luigi’s notice, but he doesn’t react. When we reach the door at the end of the hall, Luigi pushes it open, and we gasp in unison.

The room can only be described as a crime scene of the worst kind.

Every surface is covered in red paint. All of Valentina’s clothing and personal items have been dumped onto the bed and set on fire. The charred remains of her bed are still smoking lightly, doused in fire extinguishing agent.

“Shit,” I breathe, not knowing what else to say.

“They set my bed on fire.”

“They also left a message.” Luigi hesitates, pointing to the en-suite bathroom.

Valentina and I exchange nervous glances and head to the doorway. I peek inside first, noting the smashed mirrors and more red paint.

“At least it’s not real blood,” I quip, but I choke on my own words when I see the message scrawled onto the wall.

Next time, it’s your blood.

I try to push Valentina back into the bedroom, not wanting her to see, but she shoves past me and stops dead in her tracks.

I glance back at Luigi, who is pacing the bedroom worriedly, and for once, we’re on the same page.

Find this bitch.

Valentine bursts into tears, and I pull her into a tight hug. She sobs against my chest until Luigi clears his throat. We break apart, and I gently lead her out of the room.

“Come on,” Luigi calls, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

“You go.” I nudge Valentina toward him. “I need some air.”

She nods and follows her uncle down the stairs while I slip out the front door. My car is back in its place, surrounded by Rossi men, but I barely glance at it. I jog down the steps and veer around the house, looking for a quiet place to think.

There’s a small stone patio on the side of the house with a tarp-covered barbecue and a place for seating. The snow has been mostly cleared away here, so I stop and pull out my phone. I need to call the uncles and tell them about this.

I almost press Uncle Joe’s name, but I remember that my phone is probably bugged. Instead, I shove it back in my pocket and pace around the patio.

I need to get them both to a more secure place where The8 can’t reach them. I wrack my brain, trying hard to come up with a solution when it suddenly hits me.

We need to get out of the city, and we need to do it without The8 noticing.

Valentina would never agree to go into hiding, though. Unless I kidnap her?

I shake my head at my own stupidity. Kidnapping isn’t in my nature, and besides, I doubt she’d ever forgive me for that. A plan begins to form in my mind, one that might result in her getting only mildly angry at me.

That’s okay. Anger I can handle.

I head back inside and find her mindlessly stirring sugar into her coffee, staring out the window. She looks shell-shocked and empty, and it breaks my heart.

“Lenny,” I say softly so as not to startle her. “Can we talk?”

She nods and sits down at the kitchen table. Her tear-streaked face makes me want to burn down the entire world, but I need to focus on one thing at a time. Safety first.

“I don’t think this house is safe,” I start. She nods, agreeing with me. “I don’t think this city is safe, actually.”

“Do you think I should go back to California?” Her voice cracks with fear and emotion. “It’s selfish, I know, but I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t think leaving is the best idea either,” I agree, and her eyes snap to mine, shocked. “I need you close, so that I can keep you safe. I can’t help if you’re on the other side of the country.”

“So, what do you have in mind?”

“My friend Rafael lives out in the countryside,” I start, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “I think we should pick Matilda up from the airport and head out there, maybe for the weekend. At least while they amp up security here and clean up the mess.”

She stares thoughtfully into her cup, considering it. I can see the wheels spinning, the battle between leaving her family and keeping Matilda safe raging on.

“Rafael Romano?” she finally asks. I nod, terrified to speak when she’s actually considering my plan.

She lets out a deep, heavy breath that seems to re-focus her and takes a big gulp of coffee.

“Okay, that might be a good idea,” she finally concedes. “I’m assuming he’s got a state-of-the-art security system, considering who he is. But only for the weekend, right?”

“We’ll be safe there,” I answer, skirting around her last question. It’s not lying if I just don’t answer, right?

“What am I going to tell Matilda?”

“Just tell her we’re visiting friends in the country.” I smile, elated that she agreed. “They have a baby girl, and tons of farm animals and big, beautiful gardens. She’ll have fun.”

“No,” she says slowly, refusing to meet my eyes. “I mean, about you?”

I suck in a breath, holding it deep in my chest. This is the first time we’ve ever even slightly broached the subject, and I don’t want to push her too far. Inside, my mind is screaming, “Tell her I’m her father!”

“Whatever you decide, I support you,” I finally manage to say. “We can tell her the truth. Or if you don’t think that’s the right thing to do, we’ll say I’m an old friend.”

“An old friend.” She smiles, pacified for the moment.

“A dear, old friend,” I agree, trying to push the hurt away.

One day, Matilda will know I’m her father. And I’ll be the best goddamn father she could have to make up for these lost years.

But not today. Today, all that matters is getting my girls to safety.