The Hitman's Mark

3. Hell to Pay

VALENTINA

Val spent the next hour crafting a plan to unravel her engagement and strong-arm her father. She didn't have time to waste.

After she stormed out of her father's study, no one cared to follow her. She thought Adriano might've tried to chase her down, but even her beloved uncle answered to Leonardo Romano's demands. The men had undoubtedly busied themselves discussing whatever secrets Matteo had gleaned when torturing the Russian. Or, perhaps they were drafting the marriage contract between her and Ezra McLeod...

Val rolled her eyes at the thought, swiping a ruby red lipstick along her plump bottom lip.

Good, she decided. She didn't want one of her father's capos tailing her that evening. At least, not yet...

Val finished painting red on her lips and strode out of the bathroom attached to her childhood bedroom. She'd been pleased to find her luggage waiting for her at the foot of her bed when she arrived, and now she dug through one of the large pink suitcases for a dress that suited her needs...

Eventually, her hands landed on a little black number, silky and short and utterly scandalous for the coveted daughter of a mob boss. Especially one that was practically engaged to the heir of McLeod Pharmaceuticals. Val smirked, tossed her fuzzy pink robe on the bed, and shimmied into the mini-dress. To top it off, she strapped a pair of four-inch heels on her feet and clasped the gaudiest diamond necklace she could find on her neck.

On the nightstand, her phone buzzed. A message from Alysia Canelli, her high school best friend, waited on the lock screen. OMG! You're back in NY? Yes, we have to go out tonight! The Casper @11?

Val grinned. She'd texted Alysia almost as soon as she left her father's study. Val told the notorious party-animal that she'd returned to New York that evening and wanted to make her debut on the club-scene that same night. Although they hadn't seen each other in four years, Val knew from Alysia social media profiles that she took every chance to party.

If anyone knew the most popular, most frequented clubs in the city, it was Alysia Canelli. In truth, Val couldn't care less about "making her New York debut," but she needed a crowded club filled with made men that might recognize her after four years off the grid.

Val unlocked her phone and typed a hasty: See you then.

Now she needed to secure a ride to the club. Easier said than done, but Val banked on the knowledge that her father, uncle, and the capos were still engaged in a meeting downstairs. The bodyguards and foot soldiers, however, possessed no knowledge of what transpired in Val's conversation with her father. She could convince them to listen to her.

She slipped her phone and wallet into a sequin handbag, scrunched a bit of life into her loose curls, and strode out of her bedroom, where a familiar young man stood in the hallway. Val blinked. "Luca?"

He stood straighter, rolling his shoulders back before addressing her. "Signorina Valentina," he replied in a heavy accent.

Val narrowed her eyes, adjusting the strap of her little purse on her shoulder. "Do I want to know why you're skulking around outside my bedroom?"

"Your father ordered me to guard you." He frowned, his spine still rigid. The poor kid looked like a red-coat outside of Buckingham freakin' Palace.

Luca couldn't hold her gaze, undoubtedly worried about what might happen if he looked at Don Leonardo's principessa incorrectly, and he spoke so formally that Val could guess that he was a newly initiated member of the Cosa Nostra. Guarding her must have been one of his first assignments, and Val figured she could use that to her advantage.