16. Valentina

Chapter 16

Valentina

T hat kiss nearly broke me.

I can’t stop thinking about the way it felt to have Ronan’s lips pressed against mine and his hands grabbing possessively onto my hips. It was wild, a rush of pure desire straight to my core, and I’m having a hard time getting rid of the aching need still caught in my guts.

It’s crazy and definitely stupid.

Ronan annoys the hell out of me. His stupid cocky arrogance is everything I hate in a guy, especially criminal assholes like him. Yes, he’s gorgeous, and he cares about his family in a way that I find insanely attractive, but that doesn’t change anything. Getting with him is dangerous.

If the problems in his organization find out we were making out in the parking lot? If they saw the way he looked at me before and after? They’d be pretty damn pissed off, like some random Italian girl is coming in from a defunct Famiglia and taking control of their boss.

Ronan needs to stay a business partner.

This mission we’re on is about more than a quick score to me. The remnants of my father’s former crime empire will always be a danger to me so long as they still exist. Dismantling them would be an enormous weight off my shoulders, and yeah, obviously making some money would be pretty great too. But mostly, this is about my survival.

That’s all my life’s been about these days.

I park and climb the stairs to my apartment. I’m tired and distracted, and I barely notice the smell of cigarette smoke as I unlock the door and step inside.

But nobody’s allowed to smoke in my building. So why?—

“Hello, Valentina. It took me a while to find you.”

I stand frozen in the doorway. I want to turn and bolt, but Julien’s got a gun pointed at my face as a cigarette burns in his other hand. He takes a drag, never turning his eyes away.

“What are you doing here?” I really need to upgrade my locks. The number of men breaking into my apartment is getting kind of ridiculous now.

“I’m only here to talk.” He gestures for me to enter with his weapon. “Nice place. Shit building. But you have good taste.” He takes another drag. “Stand right there. That’s good.”

I’m in the middle of the living room. The door is mostly shut behind me—but not all the way. I left it cracked slightly in case I get the chance to turn and run away.

Problem is, Julien Moreau is a professional.

He’s another remnant of the alliance my former partner Marco was trying to build. Julien runs the French Connection in this part of town, importing high-quality heroin through secret shipping containers and ports scattered all over the world. The FBI figured the connection got shut down a long time ago—but Julien and his people are working with their contacts in French-aligned Africa to get the drugs flowing again.

From what I hear, business is going well. Julien’s gang is more of a loose confederation of employees than it is a crime family, and in many ways, he’s even more dangerous than Ronan or the Biancos.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” I say, trying to mask my fear. The weight of the gun in my bag is both familiar and infuriating—there’s no way he’s ever let me get it even halfway drawn.

“That’s because you’ve ignored my calls.” He smiles, head tilted to the side. Julien’s an attractive man—square chin, sharp eyes, hair cut short, wavy, and pushed to the side, always wearing tight slacks and tight black shirts that show off his muscular physique.

“Honestly, after the way the alliance broke up, I kind of figured it was better if I kept my head down.”

“I’m sure you did think that.” The gun doesn’t waver, even as he takes another drag.

“Can you put that thing out? My landlord’s going to evict me if he smells it.”

Julien laughs but jabs the butt down onto a plate he has resting next to him. “You’re admirably calm for a woman I suspect was involved with a friend’s murder.”

“I had nothing to do with Adam’s death.” That night still haunts me: I can still hear the gunfire and the screams in my nightmares. It was supposed to be an ambush against the Biancos, but they got a drop on our group instead, and the head of the Polish mafia was killed during the fighting. It went so freaking wrong. And all because of Marco.

He tipped them off. Without his betrayal, Adam might still be alive. But Marco has the backing of the Bianco Famiglia now, and he’s not an easy target for Julien’s anger.

Not like me.

“Perhaps you didn’t. But I always wondered. You and Marco were very good friends, and yet you didn’t warn anyone about his relationship with that bitch Laura Bianco. I find it hard to imagine you didn’t know about it.”

I consider lying. I choose not to. “He was my friend. I didn’t think he’d betray us the way he did.”

“And yet he was fucking a Bianco, which seems like it was always a betrayal.” Julien leans forward. If I can rattle him—if I can make that gun point somewhere else, just for a minute?—

What can I do? Make a break for the door? I’m not sure Julien will kill me, but I’m also not sure he won’t.

“Marco was your friend too,” I point out.

“We both know I was never as close to him as you were. Come now, Valentina, don’t tell me that’s your defense? What about me?”

“I had nothing to gain from Adam’s death and everything to gain from hurting the Biancos.” I step toward him. My hands tremble and my heart patters in a wild rhythm. This is stupid, baiting him like this, but I don’t see another way out of this situation. “They killed my father. The Biancos stole everything from me. I wanted to hurt them, and Marco stole my revenge away.”

“Killing Adam in the process,” Julien murmurs, and for a moment I think he might even be convinced. But his expression hardens. “If you really were innocent, I need information on your former partner.”

I hold my hands out, palms up. “You know as much as I do. He’s with Laura Bianco. They’re living together.”

“Get me more. I want an address. I want to know who’s watching his back.”

“I don’t know any of that.”

“Then what use are you to me? Why keep you around when killing you might make me feel better?” He stands suddenly. I forgot how tall he was. “Adam was a good man. With him dead, his family is in disarray. His cousins and uncles are fighting each other for control. It’s ugly, and meanwhile, Marco gets to live happy and free in marital bliss. You get to sit in this apartment and keep on making your clever little plans. Does that sound like justice to you?”

“There’s no justice here,” I say, taking a step back. I never should’ve pushed. I overplayed my hand, and now Julien’s angry. I can see the violence in his expression—it’s a look I’ve seen a hundred times on the faces of the men in my father’s Famiglia. It’s a look I know too well.

“Perhaps not the correct kind, but I can try.” He raises the gun.

The door bangs open. It slams against the far wall, and I let out a shocked yelp as I throw myself sideways. Gunshots ring out— I’m not sure who’s shooting or who’s injured, but there’s a grunt of pain and shouting.

My ears are ringing. I’m on the floor, but there’s no blood. I’m not shot . I stare up at the ceiling, blinking a few times to get myself under control, before I slowly push myself up into a seated position.

Ronan’s standing over Julien. The Frenchman’s clutching his left arm and grimacing in pain as blood pours between his fingers. He’s injured, but not dying, and Ronan’s shouting something in his face. I can barely make it out, but my hearing starts to come back in fits.

“—ever come near her again, I’ll aim for your fucking face—” Ronan kicks Julien’s gun away, sending it skittering across the floor. “—go anywhere near her, I’ll gut you and your entire—” Ronan shakes Julien, who only grimaces back in angry defiance.

But Ronan doesn’t stand there and argue. He turns away and comes to me, looking like fury and heaven as he helps me to my feet. I stare at him, my mouth hanging open, not sure what’s going on. “Come with me,” he says, pulling me toward the doorway.

I look over my shoulder. Julien’s lighting another cigarette and showing me his teeth in a vicious grin. He winks at me, like this was all some hilarious game, and a chill runs down my spine. That man is a monster. Pure and simple.

Once we’re downstairs, Ronan hustles me into his black BMW. Once we’re on the road and my hearing’s almost entirely back, I turn to him in total shock.

“What the hell were you doing at my apartment?” I blurt out.

He looks at me—and laughs.

I stare, stewing, caught between being thankful and angry. He shakes his head and puts a hand on my leg. This time, I shove it away.

“Ah, come on, love, I just saved your life.”

“I know,” I say, and take a deep breath to calm myself. I’m not actually mad at him. I’m just still dealing with the adrenaline of coming within inches of getting killed. “I’m sorry, I’m just—seriously, how were you there?”

“I couldn’t leave things like we did back at the bar,” he says softly, not looking at me now. “After you kissed me?—”

“Hold on, after I kissed you ?” I gape at him, incredulous. “You’re the one that practically manhandled me.”

He’s grinning big now and I hate myself for letting him bait me. “After the kiss, you ran off, and I didn’t want things to be tense between us. I just wanted to come and clear the air.”

I blow out another breath and watch the houses flit past as he drives. I put a hand on my chest and feel my heartbeat stuttering along at a wild pace. It takes a few minutes before I’m calm enough to think clearly.

“Thank you,” I say and look at him.

“You’re welcome.” No joke. No mocking in his voice. “Glad I can be of service.”