Page 51 of Valentino

"Mafia," I say. "You think I don't know what your family is?" The words don't come out with quite the bite I'm aiming for, but they're close enough. "You think Vittoria and I spent years as best friends, and she never once mentioned how quiet everyone got when a phone rang? Or why she needed Elio to guard her wherever we went?"

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

There it is.

His tell.

The man locks everything down so tight most people would never notice it.

"She never said the word," I admit. "Not once. She's too smart for that. But she talked about it. Over years. In pieces." I shift against the pillow. "The way you talk about something you love and are afraid of at the same time."

I swallow.

"Riccardo dying. Bruno in that chair. Pietro running things then. The men who always seemed to know where everyone was supposed to be. You don't have to say mafia for me to know I'm sitting in a safe house because someone out there wants me dead."

He doesn't deny it. "She kept you out of it on purpose," he says finally, full of caution. Almost as if he's afraid I'll break.

"I know." I let my head fall back against the pillow. Holding it up is starting to feel like more trouble than it's worth. "I kept myself out of it on purpose. That was the deal. She got one friend who treated her like a person instead of a princess, and I got to love her without having to understand what any of it really meant." A humorless laugh slips out. "Turns out ignorance only works until the bullets start flying."

He's still watching me. He hasn't really stopped since I woke up.

"You keep doing that," I say.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like you're trying to solve me."

"Not you. The night." He says it flat, without apology, and the corner of his mouth twitches. "You weren't supposed to be in that room. None of it adds up the way it should."

"Romantic." I almost laugh. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Conti. You're a math problem. Put that on a card."

He doesn't laugh.

I close my eyes because looking at him is taking more energy than I have.

"When I'm not drugged," I say, and I'm pleased with how steady my voice sounds, "we're going to have a real conversation. You and me. About all of it. What this means for me. What happens to my life. Why a man I've known since I was a teenager flew to Milan and ended up carrying me out of a palazzo."

I open my eyes and hold his gaze.

"Not the version where you protect me from the truth. Not the version where you decide what I can handle. The real one."

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," I repeat, mostly to make sure it's real.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Valentino

Her hand goes slack in mine.

I wait. One breath. Two. Her chest rises and falls, her mouth parting slightly. She doesn't stir when I shift my hand beneath hers. Asleep again. Good. She needs the rest.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.

Vittoria.

Fuck.