10. Valentina

Chapter 10

Valentina

T he second I park down the block from Ronan’s place, I can instantly tell this was a bad idea.

There are more cars here than I expected. Men sit on the stoop out front smoking cigarettes and laughing loudly even though it’s still early in the morning. I can’t exactly see inside, but this is an extremely familiar scene.

Back when I was young, my house was like this on weekend mornings. My dad would invite the Famiglia over for big breakfasts where his men would air grievances to him in private. Even men and women from outside the Famiglia showed up to make requests of him, and half the time he’d bring me into these meetings to teach me how to be a leader.

Dad was always generous. Sometimes to a fault. The people in his organization loved him, and anyone outside thought he was a monster. That was for good reason. Dad showed extreme benevolence and kindness to anyone on his side, but he was ruthless to anyone that stood up against him.

Like the Bianco Famiglia. They were his primary targets and his main enemies, and half the time he spent figuring out ways to fight them while working to take care of his own.

I remember those mornings. I think about them all the time. Back then, I felt like I had a family, like I had people that cared about me. I had a reason to wake up.

Now that’s all gone, and I’m really not sure I can face that scene all over again but knowing I’m on the outside.

I’m about to turn around and leave when a knock at the passenger door window makes me yelp. I look over and it’s Niall grinning down at me. “Crap,” I hiss to myself and roll down the window.

“Not coming inside to say hello?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the roof and looking down at me.

“I just—” I glance over at the men smoking on the stoop. “I don’t know. It’s a lot, and I can tell he’s busy?—”

Niall’s expression softens. “He told you to come, didn’t he? I was just walking over when I saw you park. I’ll escort you inside, yeah?”

“What a gentleman.”

“Just like at Bloody Strike.” He beams, and I realize there’s no escape. I kill the engine and get out, feeling wildly self-conscious, but Niall distracts me with a steady stream of meaningless chatter about some upcoming fights, right up until we reach the stoop.

“Who’s this then?” one of the older men asks. “Got yourself an Italian wife, Niall?”

“Easy, uncle,” Niall says and gestures at me. “This is Valentina Santoro. She’s here to see the boss.”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up and all the men around him look surprised. I say hello and let Niall drag me into the house.

It’s exactly what I feared, and it’s completely what I expected. People are everywhere: men on the couches, women sitting between them, some young and some old, more people wandering between the rooms, men and women in the kitchen; laughter, shouting, more laughter, and lots of food piled on tables everywhere. Niall’s assaulted right away with greetings, and I figure he’s about to abandon me to his people, but instead he shows me around.

“I know, it’s a parade of Irish faces,” he says after introducing me to the tenth cousin. “But don’t worry. I doubt Ronan expects you to remember them.”

“Where is he anyway?”

“In his office. I’ll take you there in a sec, got to show you off to the most important people in the house.” He leads me into the kitchen where a dozen older Irish women with wrinkled faces and hard eyes say hello and offer me more food than I could possibly eat. A few weeks ago, I would’ve taken them up on it all and tried to sneak some home—but thanks to Ronan, I’m not hungry anymore.

“And this is the boss’s mother, Deirdre Hayes, the most important person in the entire house. Isn’t that right, Aunt Deirdre?”

“That’s right, you thin-skulled monkey, and don’t forget it. Lovely to meet you, dear, did you get something to eat?” Ronan’s mother is a thin woman, around my height, with silver hair and a lined and wrinkled face. Her deep blue eyes smile at me, and I feel extremely comfortable with her right away, but a piece of me feels brokenhearted as I accept a cup of coffee in lieu of a full Irish breakfast.

I miss my aunts and uncles. I miss my fake cousins. I miss this noise, this commotion, this community. It breaks my heart, but it also fills me back up again in a way I didn’t even know I needed until right now.

Finally, we reach the office. Niall dumps me at the door. “He’s alone now, I think,” he says before walking off.

I consider knocking, but since Ronan’s a fan of breaking into my apartment, I decide to return the favor and barge through the door.

He looks up in surprise. Ronan’s sitting in an old chair behind a big wooden desk with his feet up on the top. He’s got a file open in his lap and thin glasses are perched on his nose. He blinks at me in surprise, the prescription making his pupils look enormous, before he rips them off and scowls.

“Knocking would be nice,” he grumbles as I shut the door.

“You wear glasses? Big, strong, powerful Ronan Hayes wears glasses ?” I cackle at him, delighted by my discovery.

“Reading glasses,” he corrects. “And you’re perfect then, are you?”

“Compared to you, absolutely.” I saunter over and take a seat in a chair across from him. The office is relatively small but fairly nice. Wooden bookshelves are crammed with volumes, a couch against the wall, a stack of filing cabinets, and Ronan’s desk. Pictures line the walls, and I recognize a few famous Chicagoans. Most are in black and white.

“Did you do the rounds out there? If you had called, I would’ve come out and given you the tour.”

“Niall beat you to it.”

His lips press together, and I can tell he doesn’t like that. Is he actually jealous of his cousin right now?

“Next time, tell me you’re here.” He closes the file folder. “Did you get something to eat?”

It’s hard not to smile. I can’t help myself. “I was offered by at least a dozen different people.”

“It’s what we do on mornings like this. Family comes over, they get fed, we argue and watch sports if they’re on, some go to mass and some don’t, then we move on.”

“It’s nice,” I say and struggle to keep the pain from my voice. “We did something similar back when my dad was alive.”

He nods slowly. “I bet you did. If it’s overwhelming out there?—”

“No, not at all. Honestly, I kind of like it.”

His smile returns. “I bet the cousins are mad right now. An Italian girl at Sunday breakfast? And not just any Italian, but Valentina Santoro?”

“I didn’t realize I was famous.”

“You are, love, you most definitely are, but don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late. I can already feel my ego inflating as we speak.”

“Ah, well, shall we remind you about the whole being so broke you came crawling to me for help thing to really humble you again?”

“I’d be better if you didn’t. And I wasn’t crawling. I came with a job.”

He shrugs, and there’s that famous smirk again. The one that makes me despise him so much. “Whatever you want to call it. Speaking of which, did you come bearing gifts?”

I take my phone from my bag and unlock it as he comes around his desk and sits in the chair next to mine. He’s a big man, tall and athletic and muscular, and his knee brushes against mine. I don’t pull away, and he doesn’t move either, as I open my notes app to get at some of my thoughts.

“Here’s a list of my father’s former Capos. Some are definitely still active, but others are either dead or operating somewhere else. I’m betting at least a few are good targets.”

“I recognize some of these names,” he murmurs, looking at the screen. “You’re good with this? Weren’t they a part of your Famiglia, once upon a time?”

I glance toward the window overlooking the streets. It’s a quiet, shady street, with lots of family homes and big leafy trees. Not the richest part of the city, but not the worst by a mile. A good place to live and to grow up.

“When my father died, they made their choices. None of them stepped up to help me. Half of them wanted me dead, and the other half wanted to force me into marriage. Marco’s the only one that kept me safe.”

Ronan makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “They’re all bastards. I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

“You wouldn’t have? I doubt it.”

“You think I’m so bad?”

“I think you’re a smarter man than you let on.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “You’re right. I would’ve married you in a heartbeat.” He hesitates and lets that linger as a chill runs down my bare arms. “At least, if I were one of them.”

“Good thing you’re not.”

His lips part and he moistens the lower one. “Let me ask you something. What did you make of everyone out there?” He nods at the office door.

I follow his gaze. “Your family? They seem nice.”

“Nice?” His eyebrows raise. “Love, we’re a crime family. Half the men in that room have at least one murder to their name. Half the women too.”

“Nice is a relative term here.” I squirm slightly, not sure what he’s looking for.

“Did you notice anything? About the way they were positioned?”

He’s watching me closely, and I think back to Niall’s tour. I suddenly realize it happened in stages: the men out front, the men in the living room, the people in the kitchen, a smattering of others moving between the different groups. “Factions?” I ask him. “Is that what you’re worried about? Every family has them.”

“Yes, love, factions.” He leans back in his chair, arms over his chest, not looking at me. “That’s what I’m dealing with. Ever since my father died and I took over, the family’s been slowly splintering apart. I’m keeping it together, but only barely, and now—” He looks at me before pressing his lips tightly together. “That’s why you’re here.”

Our knees brush again. I feel another soft shock on my skin. All the little hairs on my arms stand on end like the room’s filled with static. The way he’s looking at me is just like the way he looked at me yesterday when he barged into my apartment. I should be pissed about that—my head still hurts from banging it on the wall—but there’s a strange thrill underlying my anger.

He stared at me. He really looked at me, and I swear, I’ve never liked being seen like that before in my life. But somehow with him, it felt so good, being undressed and naked in front of a man like that, totally vulnerable. He liked it too, I could tell. He couldn’t keep his eyes off me after that, and right now I’m pretty sure he’s picturing me naked again.

“How am I supposed to help with your factions?”

“I’ve been giving it thought. The boys respond to strength and stability, right? And you are an opportunity for both.”

An ugly feeling sinks into my stomach. I don’t like where this is going. “How am I good for both?”

“Your jobs will provide the strength. We’ll hit your former network and take as much of it as we can. That’ll grow our business and bring in more power.”

“Okay, but how does that help with stability?”

“It makes the lads happy. Gives them something to do aside from lounge around and talk shit. It also fills their pockets, and that’s always good.” He leans toward me, staring into my face. “But you know families like mine. You’re an Italian and that’s no good, but you’re still smart. I suspect you had more to do with Marco’s alliance than you let on.”

I resist the urge to touch my hair. It’s a nervous tell, and we’re having a dangerous conversation. I don’t want Ronan to realize he’s getting to me. “You’re offering me a partnership?”

“Yes, love, a partnership. We can call it that. You’ll have a place in my family, you’ll bring in more work, and we’ll both prosper. How does that sound?”

It sounds like he’s not telling me everything. There are only so many former Santoro Capos hanging around Chicago and only so many jobs we can pull on them before we run out. Once that happens, what use am I to him?

He’s talking about stability and family and bringing me into all that, and I can’t forget that there are always ulterior motives.

It’s still tempting. I need the work, that’s for sure, and I desperately miss being a part of something. This isn’t my father’s organization and it never will be, and I’ll never really be a part of the Hayes Group no matter how hard I try, but still.

This is better than nothing.

“You sure you can have an Italian girl on the payroll?” I ask him, only slightly teasing.

“It’s not unprecedented. We’ve got a Turkish cousin, a German accountant, several lawyers of unknown ethnic background.”

“Some of the cousins won’t like it,” I point out.

He leans closer. I think he’s going to touch my face, but he keeps his hands to himself. I wish he wouldn’t.

“Good, I hope they do,” he says softly, grinning like a wolf. “Because once they start to complain, I’ll know exactly who the problems are, and we can take care of them together.”

I see him then, the man hidden under the layers of sarcasm and jokes, the sharp-toothed animal born and bred in a crime family like this one, the killer and the beast, and I can’t help but feel a spark of something ignite between us.

“All right then, but only if it’s a temporary thing. I’m not pledging my life to you.”

“Not yet, at least.” He gets up and heads back around the desk, putting it between us, transforming back into the boss. “All right then, Ms. Santoro, let’s start talking business before my next meeting arrives.”