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I wipe my face and force myself to smile at him. “Sorry. Just done for the night.”
He’s not smirking now. “You all right?” he asks, voice soft.
“I’m fine, seriously, go back inside. Your men probably miss you already.”
He snorts and looks back at the building. Ronan looks so handsome when he’s not grinning at me. “I doubt that. Not all of them love me the way you do, darling.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
He glances back, eyebrows raised. “You would see it, wouldn’t you?” he says softly. “Grew up in this world.”
“Trained by the best Don the city’s ever seen, remember?” I try to keep the bitterness from my voice, but it’s not easy.
“You’re clever, Val. You’re good at this.”
“Too bad that doesn’t matter.” I touch his arm, thinking I’ll be polite and end this conversation before I get upset, but I like the muscle under his tight suit. A little pulse of excitement rushes down into my stomach, and I have to quickly pull away. “I should head back home.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“I’m fine, really?—”
“Until you’re in the damn car, at least.” He dares me to argue, and I just give in. We walk together the whole half block to where I parked my crappy sedan, and he stands by while I get myself situated. He doesn’t move until I’m buckled, the engine’s on, and I’m half pulled out.
Ronan raises a hand as I drive off.
I glance in the mirror. What is with him all of a sudden? I’ve known Ronan for a while through Marco, and he never gave a crap about me before. Now he’s coming after me and making sure I’m okay? He’s walking me to my car? I don’t get it, and I’m not sure I want to.
I grew up in this world, but so did he, and he knows how to play the game as well as I do.
Chapter 9
Ronan
I’m distracted the next day. My head’s still back at Bloody Strike in the booth next to Valentina. I keep lingering on her smile, thinking about the way she sipped her drink, the way her dress hugged her lovely curves, her thick dark hair, and the way she smelled: floral and subtle.
I could tell the boys didn’t like having an Italian girl like Val around, but fuck them. She was looking for something last night, and I’m not sure what, but I can tell she didn’t find it.
Not yet, anyway.
“My god, Ronan, I swear to fuck, you look out the window one more time like you can’t wait to leave and I will put a gun to your head.” Julien snaps his fingers at me, the French twat. “Yes, now I see you are listening.” He makes a face and leans back, lighting a cigarette. He blows smoke in a long exhale.
“I’m not going to apologize. You’re boring as fuck.”
Julien rolls his eyes. “Nique tes morts, fils de pute.”
“Love it when you curse in French.”
“Yes, I know this, you are a disgusting freak.” He sighs and shakes his head. The cafe owner hurries over and asks if we need anything else, but Julien dismisses him. I drink my coffee as soft Indie folk music drifts out from hidden speakers. The place is a trendy spot on the edge of downtown with lots of wood and metal like it wants to be an industrial warehouse instead of a shop that sells overpriced bean water.
Julien is the only man in the entire city that could ever get away with smoking in a place like this.
“You want to endlessly discuss what happened with Marco, and I’m just done with it.” I turn my coffee cup in tight circles. “He made his choice. He fell in love with a Bianco and decided to turn his back on us after he was the one who built the whole damn alliance to begin with. Now it’s done and we can move on.”
“Merde,” Julien says with a sigh. “I know you’re right. I just don’t like what happened to Adam. Murdered by the fucking Biancos.”
“Murdered while he was trying to do his own murdering. I’d call that self-defense.”
“Now you defend them? The Italian fucks?”
