The Hitman's Mark

5. Business

VALENTINA

Val groaned when she strode out of her bedroom the next day and nearly collided with her new bodyguard.

Matteo Costa stood like a freakin' brick wall, just a pace beyond the door's threshold. His back, displayed in a borderline too-tight t-shirt that exhibited every godforsaken muscle, faced her door, and his big arms crossed against his chest. The pose resembled an unyielding bouncer guarding the entrance of a club.

He turned when he heard her door open, and Val smirked as she stepped around his hulking body and into the hallway.

"Notorious hitman turned babysitter," she hummed, examining a hangnail on her thumb. "How are you handling the demotion?"

Matteo didn't answer, but his gaze trickled down the length of her body, down the simple white blouse tucked into her pencil skirt and to her black and white polka-dot pumps. When she'd looked at her reflection in the mirror, Val thought she looked professional. But when his whiskey eyes found hers again, Val had the distinct feeling that he was unimpressed.

Like she was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Val cleared her throat, tucked a strand of freshly curled hair behind her ear, and forced herself to walk toward the staircase before he caught her staring at his forearms, dusted with a fine coating of dark hair over tattoos and muscles and veins and...

Get a hold of yourself. Val ground her teeth.

Matteo's heavy footsteps followed a short distance back, and Val tossed a quick glance over her shoulder. "You know... When my father said 'Don't let her out of your sight, Matteo,' I don't think he meant it literally. Did you sleep outside my bedroom last night?"

"No," he grumbled, clearly uninterested in this line of questioning.

Val pouted, placing her hand on the exquisitely carved railing as she descended the staircase to the main foyer. Matteo caught up to her and walked on the opposite side of the stairs. She glanced sideways, analyzing him for a moment before trying again. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you're being forced to follow me around. I'm sure you'd rather be off whacking my father's enemies, brooding behind him in important meetings, killing innocent kittens and puppies..."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but his face remained unreadable. Not even a hint of a smile?

When he didn't respond to her by the time they reached the bottom steps, Val sighed. "At least tell me you don't enjoy torturing kittens and puppies?"

"I'd enjoy torturing you right now," he drawled, bored, his voice like molten honey.

Despite herself, heat fluttered to life in Val's veins. She smiled, more to herself than Matteo, and chirped, "Noted."

Her heels clicked against the marble tile as she strode toward the front door, leaving Matteo to once again trail behind. She pushed open the door, dropping her shoulder against the door to aid her struggle against the solid plank of mahogany. As a young girl, she'd barely been able to keep the door open long enough to pass through.

Suddenly, the door's load on Val's shoulder lessened, and she glanced back to see Matteo's arm extended over her head, handling the heaviness with unfair ease. "Oh... thanks."

He grumbled an unintelligible reply, and Val hurried out the door.

Although it was only a quarter past nine in the morning, summer heat already clogged the air, urging Val to hurry toward the nearest car and the promise of air conditioning. She didn't need the heat and her nerves to join forces, resulting in sweat stains on her best professional blouse. Her father instructed Matteo to take Val to a handful of Romano restaurants, clubs, and casinos in the city that day, and she needed to make a good impression. Sweat stains didn't scream 'capable.'