The Hitman's Mark

14. Little Victories

MATTEO

"What are you doing out here?" Matteo asked, Postiglione's back door thudding closed behind him.

Val glanced at him sideways, her hazel eyes unsettlingly dull and tired. With the glass of grappa inches from her plump lips, she looked like she held the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"I'm trying to drink alone," she quipped, a sardonic smile spreading on her lips.

Matteo's brows furrowed at the uncharacteristic expression on his charge. He leaned a shoulder against the brick exterior, a mere pace from the princess, cornering her against the wall and the restaurant's garden fence until she had nowhere to look but him.

"Why?" he prompted, eyes flickering to the liquor sloshing in her glass.

He'd seen the bartender pour Val the grappa straight and nearly hauled the asshole over the bar to beat some sense into him. Anyone with eyes could see that a single glass of the golden liquid would leave the girl stumbling and slurring. Any less-than-worthy man would try to take advantage of the situation.

Matteo followed Val almost as soon as she left the bar. She disappeared into the back hallway, and he realized soon enough that she hadn't taken her beverage to the ladies' room. No– she'd slipped out the fuckin' back door.

He decided to reprimand Luca for his failure to keep eyes on Val later. At that moment, he wanted time alone with the principessa. In fact, he'd wanted to speak to her from the moment she strode into Postiglione, all tan legs and beautiful chestnut curls in her soft pink dress.

Val frowned and shrugged a bare, golden shoulder. "Just needed some fresh air."

A blatant lie, but Matteo didn't push. At least it seemed that she wasn't deliberately trying to escape and sneak away.

"You're the 'guest of honor,'" Matteo mused, mimicking the words he'd heard Leonardo spout earlier when they'd successfully taken down Belyaev's trafficking operation. The don had been so proud of his daughter. Matteo couldn't fathom what might've changed in that short amount of time. "Shouldn't you be celebrating?"

Val cocked a perfectly arched brow. "With who? My father's new girlfriend? Lara seems like the only one in that room who actually wants to talk to me, and..." She took another long swig of the grappa and shuddered, whether because of the strong liquor or the thought of spending time with Lara, he didn't know.

"Besides," Val sighed, leaning both shoulders back against the cool brick and gazing up at the starless sky. "It doesn't really feel like we should be celebrating. No one has even really told me what happened."

Matteo felt Val's quiet sadness more than he cared to admit. She'd uncovered Mario's treachery and led the famiglia directly to Belyaev's trafficking ring, and yet no one had bothered to include her in their efforts to end it. Suddenly, he understood why she'd wanted to be alone.

"We staked out the Harrison Hotel two hours before the rendezvous time," Matteo murmured, more serious than before. He owed Val a full explanation of the great victory she'd contributed to.

She blinked her momentary surprise before nodding, prompting him to continue.

"Belyaev's men arrived with the women incrementally throughout the last hour. To avoid rousing suspicion, they pretended to be couples or family to the girls, and the hotel staff turned a blind eye to any strange behavior." Matteo still felt sick to his stomach when he thought about the women, shuffled into the dingy lobby like livestock. "There were five women, and a shit ton of Bratva guards."