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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.

“Feeling a little hot, Lenny?” He smirks, pouring me a glass of ice water. Thankfully, the waitress shows up at the perfect moment to take our orders.

“Let’s get down to business,” I assert as soon as she leaves.

“Oh, but I enjoy pleasure so much more,” he croons, leaning back casually in his chair. I study him, marveling at how much and how little he’s changed.

The same sandy golden-brown hair, but he styles it now. His abysmal suburban dad uniform of khakis and polo shirts is long gone, replaced by a crisp, tailored suit. As he leans forward, I spot swaths of delicate color peeking out from his sleeves.

Tattoos! Enzo never had tattoos. I wonder how far down they go? Do they cover his chest? Do they trail down to where…

“Hello? Earth to Lenny?” he says, waving his hand in front of my face. “Here I thought you wanted to talk business, but you just wanted to check me out.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re wondering how far down my tattoos go, aren’t you?”

“What?!” I choke on nothing. Oh god, I’m going to faint. “No, I didn’t even know you had tattoos.”

He opens his mouth to throw another smart-ass line at me, but I press my finger against his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“As you know, the Rossis have purchased a waterfront complex here in the city.” I launch into the spiel I stupidly practiced for Rafael Romano. “We’re not here to step on anyone’s toes or cause trouble. We’re just expanding our more legitimate ventures to diversify our portfolio.”

“Right, right, right,” he muses, staring up at the ceiling. “And that’s why you tried to burn down our warehouse yesterday, right? Camaraderie and all that?”

I stare at him, shocked. What the hell is he on about?

He should know that I’m too smart to blaze into a new city, with zero support and a skeleton crew, and start a turf war. That’s not how I would ever do something like this.

But I know who would.

“Are you saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

“I’m saying you learned from the worst,” he replies nonchalantly. “Your father had no manners when it came to boundaries either.”

“My father is a complicated man,” I spit, but there’s no venom in my voice, and Enzo knows it. “Whatever, are we done here?”

I move to stand up, but he grabs my elbow, easing me back into my seat. We bore holes into each other’s eyes, neither of us willing to be the first to give. Finally, he closes his eyes and leans back in his seat.

“I’m just saying, maybe you didn’t burn down our warehouse,” he explains slowly as if I’m a child, “but maybe you should ask your maybe-dead-maybe-alive father about this.”

“He… we had nothing to do with this,” I seethe. Anger rises up in my throat instantly.

How dare he imply that the Rossis would do something shady like that? We’re an old, established family. We don’t play small-time games.

“Clearly, you have some enemies to see to,” I declare, standing up and gathering my things. “And Enzo? If you even so much as try to retaliate for something we didn’t do, believe me, you’re going to regret the day you were born.”

I throw my hair over my shoulder and stalk out of the room. My composure lasts two more minutes—enough for me to get into the backseat of my armored, chauffeured car. Safely ensconced in my luxurious leather bubble, I burst into the ugliest tears known to humanity.

After giving myself a few minutes to wallow, I pull it together as we glide into the courtyard of our new East Coast compound. Uncle Luigi flings the front door open before I can even touch the handle.

“How was it? What happened?” he demands, trying to hide his worry.

“It was completely fine.” I brush him off and head to the kitchen. He tails me, expecting details. “They accused us of setting fire to their warehouse last night.”

“That’s ridiculous. Where the hell did they get that idea? Were you crying?”

“I mean, we move in, and their warehouse burns down. Looks suspicious, doesn’t it?”

I busy myself with pouring fresh beans into the coffee machine so he doesn’t see I’m hiding something. Mentioning that Enzo now leads the Romano family would only set him off—and send him running to tattle to my father.

Uncle Luigi is my ball and chain when I’m off the home base since my father can no longer travel. Funny how he’s forced me to lead the family and yet refuses to trust me to actually do so.

“In their eyes, yes, I suppose,” he agrees. “We need to have a call with the family.”

“I know,” I grit through my teeth as I watch the coffee drip painfully slowly.

“Valentina, don’t get emotional,” he tries to soothe, but it comes off condescending. “Everyone trusts your leadership and decision-making skills, but you’re young and this is all so new for you.”

“New?” I screech, whirling around to face him. “I’ve been doing this for three years now, thank you very much. And in those three years, not only have I expanded our business across the whole damn country, but I’ve created peace treaties with other families to allow us to do so. So, don’t you dare insinuate that I’m incapable of doing anything without my father pulling the strings in the background.”

He shakes his head, and my anger deflates. No doubt my father will hear about yet another high-strung, emotional outburst.

Like clockwork, my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, stabbing the “answer” button.

“Valentina, why didn’t you call me after the meeting like I requested?”

“Dad, I literally just stepped into the house,” I huff, putting him on speakerphone. “I met them, they accused us of setting fire to their warehouse, and I told them we had nothing to do with it.”

“Hmm, and then?”

“Then…” I stutter. Then my brain went blank because the love of my life was sitting in front of me, smiling that crooked, dimpled smile. “I told them if they thought of retaliating for something we didn’t do, they would regret the day they were born.”

“That’s my girl.” Dad chuckles. I can hear the machines beeping in the background, and instantly feel bad for lying to him.

T echnically, I’m not lying. I’m omitting an insignificant part of the truth.

“Dad, we had nothing to do with this, right?” I ask, forcing a hard edge into my voice.

While I don’t think my father would ever go after the Romanos, I can’t be sure. And I’m too smart to keep myself in the dark if I know it’ll bite me in the ass one day.

“No, we had nothing to do with it,” he says plainly, and there’s not a trace of a lie in his voice. “We’ve never had any contact with the Romanos, bad or good, and I’d like to think it’s best to keep it that way.”

“That’s basically what I told Enzo,” I agree, catching sight of Matilda running around the back garden like a bat out of hell. Uncle Alfonso chases her, throwing slushy snowballs at her legs while she shrieks with glee.

“Enzo?”

Shit. Fuck. Did I say that out loud?

“Right,” I confirm, refusing to elaborate.

“You didn’t meet with Rafael Romano?”

“Not exactly.”

“Who’s Enzo?”

I catch Uncle Luigi staring me down with a pensive look on his face. I shrug my shoulders like it’s no big deal.

Enzo is a common name. I have no idea why everyone is suddenly so concerned.

“He’s the new head of the Romano family,” I say vaguely. “Took over from Rafael, it seems.”

“Enzo Romano,” my father muses. “Never heard of him. Luigi? Look into that, would you? I want you to find everything you can about Enzo Romano.”

“It’s not Romano,” I whisper as Uncle Luigi confirms my father’s instructions. “It’s… Cavalli.”

“What?”

“No.”

My uncle and father speak at the same time, and I shrink back against the counter, cursing myself for not lying.

But Uncle Luigi would have looked into it and figured it out anyway. Then I’d be caught in a lie, and it’d be even worse.

“Enzo Cavalli is the head of the Romano family,” I clarify, but judging by the horrified look on Luigi’s face, they definitely understood.

The silence stretches, slowly replacing the air in the room. By the time my father finally speaks, I feel like I’m suffocating.

“Valentina, I want you and Matilda to get on the first flight back to California,” he commands, his voice low and laced with anger. “Your work there is done. Luigi and the rest of the crew can finish up.”

“But—”

The call cuts off, signaling my father’s unvocalized goodbye. I grab the stupid phone and hurl it against the wall with all my strength. Uncle Luigi sighs and leaves the room, giving me time to calm down.

Matilda spots me at the window from outside and grins, waving both mittened hands at me. I smile as Alfonso scoops her up and sends her flying into the air.

My fingers pick nervously at the dish towel, unraveling the loose threads while my foot taps against the marble floors of its own accord.

I ignore my body as it screams and begs to move, to stretch my muscles, to lose myself in music. My father’s words echo in my mind.

Ballet isn’t a priority anymore. Quit dreaming about a future that’ll never happen.

I sink into a chair at the kitchen table with my coffee, my mind a jumble of confusion and regrets. The anger builds as I think about the horrific existence my family has trapped me in.

I can’t build the future I want for myself because I need to lead the family. But I can’t throw myself into leading the family because no one trusts me to make decisions.

And then, there’s Enzo. I drift back to that sweltering day in August, after my final recital. We made love on the ballet studio floor for the last time, not knowing it would be the last.

He disappeared after that. For years, I beat myself up thinking it was my fault—I wasn’t pretty enough, fun enough, or good enough for him.

Then I found the check receipt in my father’s books.

When I took over the family, I went through all our accounts to find where we could tighten things up. Stuffed haphazardly into the back of an account book was a receipt for three million dollars made out to Enzo Cavalli, dated the day after my recital.

He traded our love for money.

I sure hope that three million dollars keeps his cold heart warm at night.