And now, apparently, Valentina was complicated too.
“She’s involved with the Callahans?” Remy asked.
Max sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Yeah. With the youngest brother, Sebastian. She’s volatile. Yeah, sure, she’s grieving, but it’s more than that. She doesn’t know how to keep her damn mouth shut. She’s a broke alcoholic with a sick mother. One bad day, one drink too many, and suddenly, she’s talking to the wrong people about the wrong things.”
He didn’t have to specify who those “wrong people” were. I knew. The Americans had come sniffing around before. Max thought Valentina was exactly the kind of person who could give them something they’d want to hear.
I didn’t know she was an alcoholic though. It explained a lot—maybe too much. That desperation I’d heard in her voice suddenly made sense. Alcohol had a way of stripping people raw, wearing away whatever they tried to hide behind.
I’d seen it enough times. It was never pretty, watching someone unravel like that.
“And if she does talk?” I heard myself ask quietly, not sure why the words had even come out.
Max turned his head fully toward me. “Then I hope you’ll still be around,” he began. “I’m sure you understand why.”
I understood. He’d need me to handle the legal issues. Which meant the Americans were circling again. They liked to play dirty, and they liked to play close. Too close.
And Valentina?
She’d make it easy for them. A woman with no money, no stability, and no one to tell her to shut up. It was the perfect combination for leverage.
I didn’t know much about her, only the scraps Max and Remy had let slip. Valentina was a grieving widow with a sick mother, no money, and a drinking problem she didn’t seem to bother hiding. It wasn’t hard to piece the rest together. Women like her didn’t make it far in this world—not unless they were smarter than they looked. Or luckier. Valentina didn’t strike me as either.
I thought about the subway—about the guy who’d catcalled her. She’d laughed it off, calling it charming.
Charming.
I’d heard men like that charm women right out of their lives. Women who thought they could handle themselves, who thought nothing bad would happen to them, because bad things happened to other people.
Valentina didn’t know any better.
That was the problem. She didn’t know anything about survival—not really. Not the kind of survival that kept you alive when the people around you wanted you gone. Her instincts were all wrong. She’d play into someone’s hands without even realizing it.
Hell, she already had.
The Callahan’s didn’t keep people around for long if they weren’t useful. She’d figure that out eventually—probably too late.
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” I said.
Remy and Max continued to talk about things that bored me. My focus was on Valentina instead. She stepped out of the room a few minutes later, heading toward the deck with a man I didn’t recognize. He was tall, blond, and he clearly thought too much of himself, judging by the way he leaned in close to her as they walked.
She didn’t shove him off though. Didn’t pull away. That should’ve told me everything I needed to know about her. She didn’t have boundaries. Not the kind that mattered.
The cigarette trembled between her fingers when she brought it to her lips, and I wondered if the guy noticed.
Probably not. He was too busy looking at her like she was something he was entitled to. Like he’d already made up his mind about how the night would end.
I wasn’t sure why it annoyed me. Maybe because I knew exactly what type of man he was. The kind who thought a little charm and a lit cigarette was all it took to get someone like Valentina to fall into place.
Or maybe it annoyed me because she was letting him. Like she’d let me.
Max and Remy soon left to find more people to chat with. I wasn’t sure why, but I found myself waiting for Valentina to step back inside. Waiting for that guy to leave her side. It wasn’t curiosity—I knew enough about her already.
When she finally returned, she didn’t look in my direction or even notice I was watching. Maybe she didn’t care. Women like Valentina didn’t notice anything beyond their next drink, their next cigarette, or their next bad choice.
And that was exactly the problem. Her choices weren’t just hers anymore—they’d quickly become mine, thanks to Remy and Max. As long as she stayed tangled up with the Callahans, I’d be stuck here too, wasting my time babysitting the kind of drama I’d spent years avoiding.
I had my own issues to deal with—PT, recovery, getting my shoulder back into something resembling working order. Hell, I’d take sitting behind the colonel’s desk right now over standing around watching this mess unfold.
