The Hitman's Mark

20. Sofia Iva Romano's Daughter

VALENTINA

Val's hellish night bled into a hellish morning.

She woke at sunrise to an alarm that she'd forgotten to switch off after dragging her pity-partying self to bed. Despite her best efforts to fall asleep again, Val spent the next several hours staring blankly at her bedroom's coffered ceilings.

Coward, Val labeled herself, even as she wrapped the silken sheets tighter around her shoulders.

She knew she couldn't stay in her room all day. Sooner or later, she'd be forced to face her demons. Matteo.

Memories of their encounter last night brought a fresh wave of humiliation. She'd been so confident that the hitman wanted her, too. She practically threw herself at him, desperate and aching for some semblance of affection after that dinner from hell. And he rejected her.

Val flopped onto her stomach and buried her burning cheeks in her pillow, emitting a muffled groan. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole, if only to save her from facing Matteo again.

But Val couldn't hide away in her room all day. At least, not while she still had a chance to save herself from a future with Ezra McLeod.

Her father needed her to accompany him to the McLeod's 'Black and White' gala that weekend. Needed Val to play the role of Ezra's doting almost-fiancè while he sought an alternative alliance with the pharmaceutical giants. To do that, Val needed a new dress, and she wouldn't pass on the chance to use her father's Amex.

But first, she needed reinforcements.

Val stayed curled in bed while she texted Allison. Her friend, who seemed to be adjusting to life outside of Belyaev's trafficking circle extraordinarily well, had expressed interest in taking a small trip out from the townhouse over the past week. Val figured a small shopping trip might be just what Allison was looking for.

When Allison texted back and agreed to join her for dress shopping, Val finally crawled out of bed and began to make herself presentable. Actually, she made herself look better than presentable. For the first time in weeks, she took a curling iron to her long brown locks, painstakingly hair-spraying the strands into effortless waves. She dusted a fine powder across her cheeks that gave the illusion of a soft, perpetual blush, and she painted midnight black mascara across her thick lashes.

If life was going to force her to face Matteo again, she'd be damn sure to look good while doing it.

With one last look in the mirror, Val deemed herself acceptably polished and pulled on a pair of high-rise shorts, a little white crop-top, and a blue-striped cardigan. Casual–so no one would guess just how hard she was trying.

It was almost noon by the time Val approached her bedroom door. She glanced at the little crack beneath the door, and her heart palpated at the shadow of Matteo's feet on the other side. A knot twisted tight in the pit of her stomach as she placed her hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and threw the door open.

She plastered a too-sweet smile on her lips as she marched through the doorway. Matteo only just sidestepped in time to avoid obstructing her path.

"Val?" Her name sounded rough from his lips. Last night, the sound might've sent a wave of heat straight to her stomach. This morning, it annoyed her.

"Good morning, Matteo," she cooed, glancing haphazardly over her shoulder toward the hitman as she beelined for the staircase. "Sleep well?"

Matteo was quiet for a moment, and Val could feel his amber-brown eyes following her as she practically skipped down the steps. Finally, he answered, although apprehension coated his voice, "Fine."