“Yes.”
“You knew it after we spoke.”
He nods. “You said Lazaro called her a little Casalese mouse. Little mouse is what Sal has always called Martina. He must have said it to Lazaro at some point.”
“Why would Sal do this?”
“To have something to keep me in line. He’s been making more and more bad calls in the past few years, and I’ve started to call him out on it. He needs me to keep making him money, but he wants me to do it with my mouth shut.”
I reach for his hand again, and this time, he lets me take it. Our fingers twine together.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“Take back what should have always belonged to me.” The look he gives me makes me feel as if I’m standing on a precipice. “And I want you to help me do it.”
VALENTINA
My head spins. “Help you how?” I don’t even feel like I can help myself at the moment.
He leaves my question hanging, swings his legs off the bed, and walks to the bathroom, giving me a view of his sculpted ass. I wish I was in the right state of mind to properly appreciate it, but I’m too rattled by our conversation.
I can’t stop thinking back to that photograph of Damiano and Martina I saw in his office. He told me back then their parents had died, but now that I know how it happened, the bond he has with his sister makes a lot more sense. He saved Martina from what would have been certain death for someone her age, and he’s spent his entire life protecting her. She’s lucky in that way, more than she probably knows. In my experience, it’s rare for people who are supposed to protect us to actually deliver. My father condemned me, my mother abandoned me, my husband ruined me.
He disappears behind the door, and I collapse back down on the bed, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. I can’t believe what he just told me. His mother set herself on fire in front of him. How could she do that to her kids? I’m torn between empathizing with her over the pain of losing the love of her life and blaming her for not being strong enough to push through it.
Then I remember I left family behind as well when I ran. My sisters needed me. Do they still need me now?
Damiano comes out of the bathroom zipping up his slacks, his shirt tossed over his shoulder. “Here’s my proposal,” he says, running his fingers through his wet hair. “I need your father to agree to be my temporary supplier. My initial idea was to use you as a bargaining chip, but after further reflection, I’ve identified some flaws with that plan.”
“What a relief,” I mutter as I sit up and pull the blanket up to my bare chest.
“If your father knows I have you, I suspect he’ll go straight to Sal and demand he returns you. Sal will be tipped off that I know he’s behind Mari’s kidnapping, and he’ll make an offensive move before I’m ready to respond.”
“At least you weren’t planning on telling my father you’d kill me if he contacted Sal.”
“He would know it was a bluff. You’re useless to me dead.”
“You continue to demonstrate to me that you are a romantic.”
He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt and arches a brow. “I prefer to keep you alive. What’s not romantic about that?”
I huff a laugh. “So what’s your new plan?”
“My new plan is to approach your father with carrots, rather than sticks. Tell me, does your father do a lot of hits for other people?”
The fact that he thinks I’m someone who’d be in the know on that makes me roll my eyes. “How on earth would I know? That’s a topic reserved for my father’s office, not the family dinner table.”
“You were married to his top enforcer. Did you talk to your husband about his work?”
Crap. I did his work for him. I look down at my hands. “A bit.”
“Who were his targets?”
Lazaro didn’t bring everyone to the basement. I didn’t know what his criteria was. I never asked. My guess was it was based on his mood and whether he thought they deserved it. But out of the people I saw…
“Mostly clan associates who stole or went against the clan. A few contacts outside of the clan that caused problems or defaulted on their obligations. Probably members of other New York clans when there was some kind of a dispute.”
“But never random hits,” Damiano says.
“I wouldn’t say never. I mean, I have no clue. But based on what…Lazaro told me, no. He was an enforcer, not a hitman for hire.”
“Then there had to be a good reason your father agreed to Sal’s request. What do you think that might be, Vale?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Damiano shakes his head. “Think.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Did you hear or see anything that seemed out of the ordinary? Anything at all that seemed…off?”
A memory clicks into place. The bridal shower. That day feels like forever ago, even if it’s only been a little more than a month.
I get out of the bed and pull on my clothes while Damiano watches me intently. “I didn’t see anything, but my sister…” Gemma said Papà had upped their security detail. What else did she say?
“What about your sister?” he asks once I’m dressed.
Instead of answering him, I walk over to the window. Yes, there were certain strange comments made that day. Comments that didn’t mean much to me, but maybe they’d mean something to Damiano, like how what Lazaro said to me about Martina meant something to him.
I have something to bargain with. He’s decided not to tell my father he has me, but where does that leave me?
I turn around and flatten my expression. “If I tell you what I know, will you give me my freedom back?”
His eyes flash with an irritated kind of amusement. “Ah, we’re back to this game again.”
“Will I be able to walk out of here?”
“I’d be willing to let you roam the house.”
“That’s not what I meant. Will you let me leave?”
“Not yet,” he says bluntly.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t have a plan. The chances of you getting caught by Sal’s men when you try to leave this island are exceptionally high.”
“Your don didn’t catch me when I got here.”