22. Valentina

Chapter 22

Valentina

I was a nervous wreck all day thinking about how Ronan’s hit might go wrong. I had it planned down to the second—probably overkill, in retrospect—but so many things can go wrong when a bunch of drugged-up biker criminals are involved. Then he comes home and acts like nothing happened.

Now here we are in a warehouse filled with field hockey sticks and also drugs, and Rocco Ferraro, one of my father’s former Capos, is glaring around him like he’s going to take on the entire Hayes Group organization.

I can’t move. Even when Ronan tugs me forward, I feel like my legs are made from cardboard. My toes are numb and my heart’s racing, and I keep staring at Rocco as a dozen different memories come rushing back.

He was never my favorite. Honestly, I barely liked him, but he was always there . My father said he was dependable, even if he was a slovenly piece of shit and extremely annoying, but dependable was worth a dozen different flaws. I understood what Dad meant over the years: Rocco was one of the few Capos that could be consistently relied upon to do a job no matter how difficult it proved to be, and always without complaint.

He was a prick to me. After the family fell apart, he was one of the loudest voices in calling for my head. And now I’m standing here, staring at a piece of my past, and while I should hate him for wanting to kill me, mostly I just feel exhausted and deep, brooding sadness in my guts.

“Hello, Rocco,” Ronan says once we’re through the line of guards.

Rocco looks at him, is about to speak, then he spots me.

And his mouth drops open.

Clearly, he didn’t expect me to be here.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Rocco blurts out. He points at me like he’s staring at a ghost. “Why the hell is Valentina Santoro with you?”

“Hey, Rocco,” I say, forcing myself to speak even though my jaw feels like it should be locked shut. “You look like crap. Life been hard since my father died?”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Rocco gets control of himself, but his fury is very clear as he glares at Ronan.

“Valentina is consulting with my organization,” Ronan says, and I swear there are a few murmurs from the guards, or maybe that’s my imagination. Ronan doesn’t react either way. “It was actually her idea to intercept your shipment.”

“You know, I fucking respected and loved your father, but you’ve been nothing but trouble,” he says, practically growling at me. “Why in the fuck did you take my drugs?”

“Because you’re an asshole, mostly,” I tell him and feel gratified when I get a couple laughs.

“Okay, okay,” Ronan says, grinning huge. Clearly, he liked that. “Let’s not start with the insults.”

“Fuck that. You stole from me.” Rocco takes a step forward like he forgot where he was for a moment. His guards seem very uncomfortable, since they both know they’re the first ones to die if this gets violent.

“Actually, we stole from the Bullethole Boys, and you’re very much in luck. Valentina here thinks we should sell you back this shipment at a heavily discounted rate, given we can agree to some terms. How’s that sound?”

Rocco’s taking deep breaths through his nose. The words heavily discounted rate are probably keeping him in check right now, but he’s not happy. “I’m listening.”

“We’ll sell you this meth for half of what you were going to pay the Bullethole Boys. That’s a lot of extra profit in your pocket. However, moving forward, I want you to do business exclusively through me and my business.”

Rocco’s jaw ticks. “I got a good thing going with the bikers. They cook a nice product.”

“You know what I import, and I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. Quality stuff at a very reasonable cost. We happen to be ramping up production, and I’m going to give you an early backer discount, but only if you make us your exclusive supplier.”

Rocco grunts and shakes his head. “Basically, I’d be working for you is what you’re saying.”

“Basically,” Ronan agrees and laughs, scratching the back of his head. “But it won’t be so bad. I’m betting you make at least twice as much, if not more.”

“Say I’m interested.” Rocco glances at the men surrounding him, and he probably figures he doesn’t have much choice. I watch Ronan carefully, trying to decide what he’s up to. “Is that your only term?”

“One more.” Ronan holds up a finger. “You’ll work directly under Valentina here.”

That gets a reaction. Not just from Rocco, but every single person in the room stares at Ronan like he’s gone insane, including me.

“Are you serious?” Rocco asks with an incredulous laugh.

“She’s Italian, you know her, and she understands this business. It’s a perfect fit, really.”

“Ronan,” I say quietly, heart racing. I don’t understand what’s happening. It was one thing, to give me a piece of the chop shop business, but bringing me in like this is essentially making me a permanent part of his business. I wouldn’t be in the family—not a core member of the Hayes Group—but one of many peripheral figures that work for him.

I don’t even know if I want this.

“I won’t answer to her,” Rocco warns. “I can do business with her, but she won’t be my fucking boss.”

“We’ll work out the organizational structure another time. What do you say? Want to make a whole lot of money together?”

Rocco gives the assembled men another long look. The vibe is very different now, and I catch more than a few of the soldiers giving me curious looks. Some of them seem outright hostile: Seamus’s face is pulled in a deep grimace, and he keeps glancing over at another soldier.

“All right, Ronan, I’ll play along for a while. If life’s good, we’ll all be happy.”

“Wonderful. That’s all I want.” Ronan walks over and the two criminals shake hands. Then he gestures for me to join them.

Rocco sneers at me. I stare back at him, feeling lightheaded, like I’m floating up at the warehouse ceiling and looking down on endless rows of field hockey sticks punctuated by the occasional cocaine shipment. How did I end up here, suddenly roped into this agreement? Rocco shoves out his hand and he clearly expects me to shake it.

“Guess I’m working with a Santoro again after all,” he says and lowers his voice even more. “I hope you’re half as clever as your father, kid, otherwise—” He doesn’t finish, but the threat is clear.

Otherwise, I’m going to find myself in over my head, and very fucked.

I shake his hand. “I’m looking forward to doing business with you,” I tell him, and a part of me thinks he can tell I’m very much lying.