The Hitman's Mark

11. Hope

MATTEO

Matteo thought he'd have to drag Val back to her father by the scruff of her neck, but she surprised him once again.

After tossing him a dangerously confident smirk, the self-proclaimed "future queen of the Romano famiglia" pushed open the passenger door and marched up the mansion's front steps. Matteo rushed after her, prepared to catch her as soon as she felt the inevitable effects of blood loss again. Somehow, she managed to reach the heavy front doors upright.

She leaned her shoulder against the door and turned the handle in a sad attempt to push it open, but the solid wood hardly swayed inward. "Oof," Val complained, puffing out a breath like she'd just run a marathon. "Dizzy."

"Will you slow down?" Matteo grumbled and, despite himself, stepped around Val's lithe frame to push the door open with one arm. "You're going to pass out again."

"Thanks," Val breathed her gratitude, looking up at him with those big, hazel eyes.

Matteo hated her eyes. Not because they were unattractive. Not at all. In fact, they were fuckin' beautiful. Doe-like, with a dark blue outer ring that surrounded irises of green and gold and brown. Eyes that looked gorgeous even when they were filled with fear or anger or, in that moment, surrounded by streaks of dried blood. And, Jesus, when she looked up at him through those thick, dark lashes...

He shoved those traitorous thoughts far away and pushed through the door, eager to put some distance between himself and his charge.

"Maybe I should pass out again?" Val mused, her fingers absently brushing the cut plaguing her forehead. "My dad might be more sympathetic if he thinks I'm on the verge of croaking."

Val huffed a chuckle at her own humor, but Matteo didn't find her words remotely funny. When he'd found her in the warehouse, she'd been seconds away from taking a bullet to the brain. If he hadn't found her when he did...

Matteo almost shuddered. The thought upset him more than he cared to admit. Not because he particularly liked Val or felt any loyalty toward her. In fact, she was a grade-A pain in his ass. A nuisance.

But he'd made a promise four years ago. A promise to himself, vowing to protect Valentina. At Lo Specchio, the oath was nearly shattered.

And Val had the audacity to joke about it.

Fresh anger washed over him, so Matteo simply placed a hand on the small of Val's back and pushed her forward. "Your father's office. Now."

Val's playful smile faded as quickly as it appeared. "Sir yes sir," she muttered, and Matteo didn't miss the sarcasm dripping from every word.

He pressed his hand harder against Val's back, fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of her tight, maroon dress. Cazzo, he wanted to take a fistful of that dress and push her against the nearest wall– hard. Teach the principessa a lesson in respect.

They walked silently down the hallway that led to Leonardo's office, where Matteo knew the don would be waiting. He'd informed his boss that there had been a situation as soon as they left Lo Specchio.

Val paused in front of the office doors. Despite her facade of cool confidence, Matteo noticed her chest rise and fall in an uneven pattern. She swept her tongue along her chapped lips, and her throat bobbed once. Finally, she lifted a fist and knocked twice.

"Entra," Leonardo's deep timbre sounded from the other side of the door.

Val took one last deep breath before pushing open the door, and Matteo followed a step behind. Leonardo sat at his desk, and Adriano, the sottocapo, stood dutifully at his flank.