Page 20 of Valentino

I drag my sunglasses off and let them drop into my lap. The truth is uglier and smaller than heartbreak, and I know it, and I'm not proud of it.

I slept with Elio because of the way he looked at me. He spotted me across the room at one of the Sartori events. His eyes never left me. Like he'd been waiting all night just to find me there.

It was never going to be a great love because I didn't want that. So no, I'm not a lover scorned.I'm angry about her.

I'm angry that somewhere there was a woman sitting at home, thinking she was the only one. The one he chose. The one who got his last name and his heart And the whole time he was peeling me out of my dress, looking at me like I hung the moon.

I press my knuckle against the corner of my eye before anything can spill, and I breathe in slow through my nose.

I make myself stop watching them talk and look at the dashboard instead.

But there is something my mind won't let go.The Sartoris sent Elio. Fine. I understand that part. Elio is Vittoria's man, one of her family's soldiers, and Vittoria is the closest thing I have to a sister. When you guard her, in some quiet way you guard me too. We're a package deal. We've always been. So a bodyguard, in the abstract, makes kind of sense.

But why do I need one here. In Milan. For a fashion campaign.

Vittoria wouldn't send someone across an ocean to protect me on a whim. Whatever Bruno asked her to look into worried her. And now Valentino Conti is here.

I'm not stupid. He's here for a reason. And I can't stop wondering if it's part of something bigger. Something very bad. But I already know what asking will get me.

Valentino

"What the fuck was that," I say.

Elio's jaw works, a small motion like he's tasting the answer before he gives it to me.

"It was nothing," he says.

A muscle ticks behind my ear. I shift my weight slowly, the way I do when I want a man to feel the shift more than see it, making him question if it even happened at all.

"Elio." I pause, allowing the hesitation crawl under his skin. "I'm going to ask one more time. And you're going to answer me. Because if you make me ask twice, we're going to have a different conversation, and you won't like where it ends."

His throat moves. He's not a coward. His eyes don't drop, and his hands have curled into loose fists at his sides.

"What. The fuck. Was that."

The breath leaves him in a thin stream I can almost see in the chill.

"Mrs. White and I," he says, "we have history. It's done. It's been done for months."

A hot and ugly thing opens up in my chest. Fast like a struck match. My knuckles ache with the urge to hit him. I want to put my fist through his face and feel the give of bone. I have done worse for less.

I won't do it, but the war inside of me, the desire to see his blood pour, and the knowledge that I can't risk unnecessary conflict, is making my teeth ache. Because she's right behind us. If I beat a man bloody on the sidewalk while she watches, she will see what I am. And some piece of me doesn't want her to think of me as a monster..

So I breathe. I let the fire burn down, then step in close. Close enough that he has to tip his head back a fraction to meet my eyes.

"Listen to me," I say, my voice dropping lower, softer, almost gentle. "You do your job. You keep her breathing." I pause. Let him hear his own heartbeat in the quiet. "And if you so much as think about putting a hand on her again, they will find you in pieces, Elio. Small ones. Spread across two provinces. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

He nods.

I hold his eyes a second longer and then I hold out my hand.

"Keys."

He blinks. "What?"

"The car keys. Give them to me."

He digs into his coat and drops them into my palm.