Three days later, Valentino's extended school board exposé was published.
I read it the second it went live, sitting in my office at Inferno while Valentino was at a source meeting. The article was exceptional—thoroughly researched, well-written, hitting exactly the right notes of outrage and objectivity. It exposed misuse of funds, inappropriate contracts, a pattern of corruption that had been going on for years.
And it was all his work. No help from me. No information I'd provided. Just Valentino doing what he did best—finding truth and exposing it.
I sent him a text:Just read the article. It's excellent. I'm so proud of you.
His response came a few minutes later:Thank you. That means a lot.
Two days after that, he won an award.
The New York Press Club gave him their award for investigative reporting in the local news category. It was small compared to the big national awards, but it was legitimate recognition. Proof that his work stood on its own merit.
I found out when he called me from the ceremony, voice tight with emotion.
"I won," he said. "Luca, I actually won."
"Of course you did. The article was brilliant." I closed my laptop, giving him my full attention. "How does it feel?"
"Like I'm a real journalist again. Like I didn't completely compromise myself." He paused. "I wish you were here."
"I wish I was too. But this is your moment. Your win. You did this."
"I know. But I want to celebrate with you."
"Then come home. We'll celebrate properly."
An hour later Valentino burst through the penthouse door, award plaque in hand, grinning like he'd won the lottery.
"Look at it." He held up the plaque. "Actual recognition for actual journalism."
I pulled him into a kiss. "I'm so proud of you."
"I did this. On my own. Without your help." The wonder in his voice was clear. "I can still do real work."
"You never stopped doing real work. But I understand why this matters." I took the plaque to examine it. "New York Press Club. Investigative Reporting. Valentino Russo. This is going on display."
"It's just a local award—"
"It's proof that you're excellent at what you do. That you have integrity. That you didn't compromise yourself despite what happened between us." I set it on the bookshelf with care. "This is important."
He looked at me with something soft in his eyes. "Thank you. For understanding why I needed this."
"Always." I caught his hand. "Now, I believe I promised you a proper celebration. Get dressed. We're going out."
"Out where?"
"Somewhere nice. Somewhere that serves champagne and expensive food." I pulled him toward the bedroom. "I'm taking my award-winning journalist boyfriend out to celebrate."
I took him to Per Se—pretentious, expensive, and exactly the kind of place that felt appropriate for celebrating his achievement. We were seated at a table with a view of Central Park, the Columbus Circle lights twinkling below us.
"This is too much," Valentino said, looking at the menu with wide eyes.
"Nothing is too much. You won an award. You proved yourself. This is a celebration." I ordered champagne before he could protest. "Tonight we're celebrating you. Your work. Your integrity. Everything you've accomplished."
"I feel like I'm in over my head."
"You're exactly where you should be." The champagne arrived and I poured us both glasses. "To Valentino Russo. Investigative journalist. Award winner. The man who never compromised his principles even when I tried to make him."
