Then the woman sitting across from me may be the only bridge keeping tonight from turning into a war.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Dante
For a moment no one speaks.
The silence stretches, not hostile, but cautious.Measuring.
Valentina rests her hands lightly on the arms of the chair, her gaze moving slowly from Nico, to Dario, and finally settling on me.
She’s not intimidated.
If anything, she looks completely at ease.As if she was born for this.And truthfully, she was.
From the first moment I saw her sashaying down the street in the Heights, I’d been captivated.
And now that she’s mine?
I’m besotted.
“Before anyone says something they can’t easily take back,” she says calmly, “I should tell you that I’ve already spoken to Stefano.”
Of course she’s spoken to her family’s consigliere.I’d counted on it.
From what I know of him, he’s a careful man.Older than Giovanni.Known for patience.For thinking three moves ahead before speaking one word.
Nico has met her before, in Las Vegas, and he respects her.No doubt he, too, suspected she’d make the move.
“And I’ve been in communication with my brother.”
We all wait.
Valentina leans back slightly in the chair, crossing one leg neatly over the other.
“He’s furious,” she says finally.“As you’d expect.”
I nod.
“As you suspect, he believes the wreck was orchestrated by the Morettis.”
“Go on.”
“And he’s insistent the thug at the cathedral had nothing to do with our family.Before you challenge me, you’re assuming my brother would lie to me.”
“That’s exactly what I’m assuming,” Dario replies bluntly.
There’s no hostility in his voice.Just the brutal practicality that keeps our family alive.
She tilts her head slightly.
“You shouldn’t.”
The certainty in her voice quiets the room again.
Nico studies her for a long moment before speaking.
“You’re saying the Russos didn’t send the man Dante killed this morning.”
