Matteo studies me for another long moment.Then he exhales, the sound heavy.“Tomorrow.Arrange for security.”
Even though it’s my wedding, I would never hand off my obligations as the underboss.Protecting the family is now my responsibility.“Talked to Nash on the way over.”And I told the man to assign a team of female soldiers to protect Valentina.After all, it’s my job—my responsibility—to ensure her safety from here forward.
“Hear this clearly.”Matteo’s eyes lock on mine.”If she runs, if she fights, if this costs us even one soldier, you will answer for it.”
As expected.
“We’ll meet again later.”With a nod, I turn to exit the room.
Inside, everything is roaring.The revenge that started this is still there, cold and sharp.But layered over it, tangled tight with it, is something hotter.Something alive.Something that tastes like Valentina’s surrender and sounds like the soft, broken sound she made when my tongue slid against hers.
Valentina Russo is mine.
Tomorrow she’ll wear my ring.
And God help us both, I can’t wait to make her feel every second of her surrender.
ChapterEight
Valentina
“You do like to live dangerously, don’t you, princess?”
Defiantly I bring my chin up to meet Moretti’s gaze.
His mouth set in a firm line, he turns to knock on the door, and we are sealed inside his bedroom.
Ten minutes ago, my decision not to get dressed in the clothes he’d sent up to the room didn’t seem dangerous.Instead, it had been a line in the sand.
I might be his prisoner, but I refuse to cave to his every whim.
But now…
He takes a step toward me, and my pulse turns thready.
I’m in the center of his bedroom, the silk robe—hisrobe—belted loosely around my waist.
My act of defiance seemed braver when his shoulders weren’t filling up the room.When he wasn’t deliberately walking toward me.
He stops just inches from me.
Now, with the scent of crisp citrus and something much darker wrapping around me, I can’t stop thinking about last night and the way he’d kissed me until I couldn’t remember my own name.
Refusing to cower, I lift my chin.
The atmosphere thickens, becoming supercharged, as if the room is holding its breath.
I stand my ground, and he stops a few inches in front of me.
“Valentina.”His voice is low, rough around the edges.
His gaze drops.Slowly.Deliberately.From my face to the damp strands of my hair clinging to my collarbones, then lower, tracing the open V of the robe.
His gaze turns predatory.And possessive.
Deliberately he curls his hands, flexing his fingers as if he’s fighting the urge to reach for me.
“I see you’re not ready to go.”
