9. Ronan

Chapter 9

Ronan

I ’m distracted the next day. My head’s still back at Bloody Strike in the booth next to Valentina. I keep lingering on her smile, thinking about the way she sipped her drink, the way her dress hugged her lovely curves, her thick dark hair, and the way she smelled: floral and subtle.

I could tell the boys didn’t like having an Italian girl like Val around, but fuck them. She was looking for something last night, and I’m not sure what, but I can tell she didn’t find it.

Not yet, anyway.

“My god, Ronan, I swear to fuck, you look out the window one more time like you can’t wait to leave and I will put a gun to your head.” Julien snaps his fingers at me, the French twat. “Yes, now I see you are listening.” He makes a face and leans back, lighting a cigarette. He blows smoke in a long exhale.

“I’m not going to apologize. You’re boring as fuck.”

Julien rolls his eyes. “Nique tes morts, fils de pute.”

“Love it when you curse in French.”

“Yes, I know this, you are a disgusting freak.” He sighs and shakes his head. The cafe owner hurries over and asks if we need anything else, but Julien dismisses him. I drink my coffee as soft Indie folk music drifts out from hidden speakers. The place is a trendy spot on the edge of downtown with lots of wood and metal like it wants to be an industrial warehouse instead of a shop that sells overpriced bean water.

Julien is the only man in the entire city that could ever get away with smoking in a place like this.

“You want to endlessly discuss what happened with Marco, and I’m just done with it.” I turn my coffee cup in tight circles. “He made his choice. He fell in love with a Bianco and decided to turn his back on us after he was the one who built the whole damn alliance to begin with. Now it’s done and we can move on.”

“Merde,” Julien says with a sigh. “I know you’re right. I just don’t like what happened to Adam. Murdered by the fucking Biancos.”

“Murdered while he was trying to do his own murdering. I’d call that self-defense.”

“Now you defend them? The Italian fucks?”

I wave his anger away. “You know how I feel about the Biancos. Fuck them. I’m just saying, Adam wasn’t exactly innocent.”

“Merde,” Julien says again. “I’ve been thinking about how it all went down a lot, but Dusan won’t speak with me, Marco’s a traitor, Adam’s dead, which leaves only you, my least favorite Irishman.”

“Quit flirting with me, Julien.”

He rubs his nose and mutters more curses in French. “You are very hard to talk to sometimes.”

“I’m waiting for you to get to the point. Why did you want to have this meeting?”

Julien takes one last drag and drops his cigarette into the remains of his espresso. It hisses and goes out. “I want to talk to Valentina Santoro.”

It takes a lot of effort to school my expression. I hadn’t expected him to bring her up. She was a part of our little alliance-slash-conspiracy, but only ever in an outside sort of way. I suspect she was the one coming up with the ideas and pushing them through Marco, but I have no way to prove that.

Still, I don’t like that Julien’s looking for her. “Why do you want to do that?” I ask him.

“She was there that night,” he says, lowering his voice and leaning closer. “Marco warned the Biancos, and that’s why they got the drop on Adam. But how do we know she wasn’t involved?”

“She hates the Biancos more than we do. They killed her father, destroyed her Famiglia, and ruined her life. Or did you forget about all that?”

“People do stupid things.” He leans back, arms crossed. “Have you seen her or what? Do you know how I can get in touch? I want to have a conversation with the girl.”

All the hairs on my neck are standing straight up. Julien comes off like a soft little Frenchie fuck, but he’s a vicious killer, and I don’t trust him anywhere near Valentina. Especially if he thinks she had a hand in getting Adam killed.

“I have no idea,” I lie and shrug my shoulders. “Only ever talked to her when Marco was around.”

“If you see her, tell me, yes? I just have questions that are bothering me, that’s all.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Julien changes the subject, and I let him, but I’m extremely bothered by the time we’re done talking. He bids me farewell in his dumb French way and I hurry down the block to where Seamus is waiting in a town car. I give him Valentina’s address, not sure why, but suddenly I need to check in on her.

“Wait for me down here,” I tell him once he parks outside her building. I head inside, pausing only to make sure I’m not being followed. The place is ratty with no real security to speak of, and a part of me wants to find her a better place to live now that she can afford it. The chop shop is doing good business, and I suspect she’ll be very pleased with her ten percent cut.

I knock on her door. No response. I think of the look on Julien’s face—dark and brooding—and the implication that she was involved in the death of a prominent gang leader. I knock harder, and still no answer.

“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself and pick her lock.

She thinks I’m a smiling idiot. I know that, and frankly, it’s part of the mask I wear. Let my enemies think I’m a vapid idiot with no real substance. It surprises me that Valentina hasn’t seen through it yet, but I think she’s just too prejudiced to realize.

I can be clever. I have my own talents and skills.

The door pops open easy enough and I’m inside.

The place looks—a lot better. There are books on the coffee table and a framed painting hanging over the couch. The fruit bowl on the kitchen table has actual fruit in it. I look around for any signs that Julien found her and broke in here, but the place looks tidy.

The bathroom door opens, and she comes out wearing nothing more than a threadbare, skimpy fucking towel wrapped around her middle, and she screams.

“Oh, fuck!” She jolts backwards in surprise and trips on the edge of her rug. I rush forward, but too late: she topples backwards into the shower.

“Shit, Valentina.” I run into the bathroom and reach out to help. She’s groaning and rubbing the back of her head, sprawled in the tub, and I’m completely focused on making sure she’s all right.

“No blood,” I say, touching the back of her head. “Can you stand?”

She nods and groans. “I’m fine. I’m fine. But what the fuck , Ronan?”

I take her arm and start to help her up.

That’s when I notice the towel fell off.

Oh, fuck. Holy shit .

She’s naked. And not just naked: she’s wet. Her tan skin glistens in the bathroom light. Her pink nipples are stiff, and there’s a splash of dark brown hair between her legs. My cock is instantly hard, and my pulse hammers in my chest. Her hips are gorgeous, and her stomach is smooth and sexy, and my fucking god, I want to kiss her belly button and suck her hip bones and lick those nipples until she moans?—

“Ronan,” she says through her teeth. “Get. The. Fuck. OUT!”

I stagger backwards. I’m still staring, and my dick is hard. There’s no being subtle here. She squirms, grabbing her towel and covering herself the best she can, but my god, my god , it’s too late. The image of her naked and damp, all dewy and fucking beautiful, will be forever seared into my brain.

I get out of the bathroom and give her some privacy. She wriggles from the tub, cursing the whole time, and storms into her room while I stand in the living room reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in my head to try to get my dick to go down.

But the only thing I want to pledge my allegiance to are her perfect fucking tits and those suckable goddamn nipples.

She appears a few minutes later. Her cheeks are still flushed and pink, but she’s dressed in a t-shirt and cotton shorts now. They aren’t enough to keep my brain from filling in the blanks.

“Stop staring at my chest,” she says through her teeth. “I swear to fucking god, Ronan, you better have a good reason for being here.” She storms into the kitchen and roots around in a drawer before taking out Advil.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can get my doctor here.” I take out my cell but she waves me off.

“I’m fine. Just a headache. You know, from when I fell into the freaking shower and hit my head because you scared the shit out of me?” She takes two pills then hurls the bottle at me.

I barely dodge. It bounces off the wall next to my face. “That was completely unintentional. I knocked.”

“I was in the shower!” She stops herself and takes deep breaths. “Okay, you’re here, you saw me naked, there’s no changing that.”

“Should I strip now? Do you want to see me naked in exchange?”

Her mouth falls open. “How will that help?”

“I don’t know. I saw your tits—beautiful, by the way—so you can see my dick.”

“We’re not teenagers, Ronan.”

“All right. Fair enough.” I clear my throat. God fucking damn, it’s hard not to look at her body right now.

“Start telling me why you’re here before I grab a knife and get all stabby.” She busies herself in the kitchen making tea and doesn’t look in my direction.

“I was with Julien Moreau earlier.”

She pauses. “What did he want?”

“He was going over the past. Seemed very eager to chat about the night Adam died.”

Valentina’s expression darkens as she turns on the burner. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know, love, but Julien asked about you. He said he wants to talk.”

She glances over. “Why?”

“That’s what I wondered, but he was vague. I just—” Suddenly, I feel strange. Why did I rush over? Julien didn’t know where to find her, so why was I so worried? “I came to warn you. That’s all.”

“You could have called or texted. That would’ve been preferable to breaking into my apartment.”

“Right, you’re right. I could have.”

“Instead, you wanted to scare the shit out of me?”

“No, I just—” I glance away. She’s glaring at me now and I feel completely hollow.

How am I supposed to explain that even when I’m surrounded by my supposed cousins, none of that feels real? But when she’s around, when she’s giving me hell and treating me like a bastard, somehow I feel more seen than I ever have in my life? And I wanted to come here for the same reason I followed her from Bloody Strike the other night.

I wanted to be near her. I wanted to make sure she was okay.

I wanted to take care of her.

Which would only piss her off.

And since I’m a sick bastard, I like that.

“Call next time,” she says, her voice flat and hard. “And if I don’t answer the door, assume I’m not home and do what normal people do.”

“Which is… not break in?”

“Yes, Ronan.”

“Noted.” I tilt my head as her kettle whistles. She pours hot water over a teabag and doesn’t offer me any, not that I can blame her. I did nearly give her a concussion, and I absolutely ogled her impressive naked body. “You should come to my office tomorrow.”

I’m not sure why I say it. That’s probably not a good idea. It was bad enough, having her show up at Bloody Strike, but inviting her to my house? When I know there will be a lot of cousins and uncles and aunts around? That’s begging for trouble.

“Why would I do that?”

“You want to discuss more jobs. I’m feeling open to the prospect. I think we can do good business together.”

“Ah, all I have to do is knock my head and flash my tits, and suddenly you’re willing to work with me.” She’s trying not to smile. Cheeky, funny girl. When she’s not busy hating me, at least.

“They are impressive tits, I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t be a dick.” She looks away, grinning to herself. “Yeah, fine, I’ll show up.”

“You have some ideas already?”

“I’m brimming with them.”

“I knew it. Come early, before the rush.”

“The rush?”

I walk back toward the door. “It’s a weekend, love, and I’m the boss. I have duties.”

“That’s the biggest shock I’ve gotten all day.”

I look back at her before I leave. She’s holding up her tea, covering her lips, but I can tell by her eyes that she’s grinning. I picture her naked body again, sprawled in the tub, and I remember Julien’s worry and the sharp edge to his tone, and guilt flutters through me.

She’s Italian. She’s not right for me, even if I’m starting to want her. Getting involved is only a business proposition.

And I could use the work right now. The cousins are restless, but a few big scores will quiet them down. Valentina’s exactly what I need, and I have a feeling I’m what she needs too, at least for a while.

“Just don’t open your door for strangers, love,” I say as I leave.

“Not like I was before, asshole!” she calls after me.