The Hitman's Mark

28. Escape

VALENTINA

Val kept her head down as she navigated through the crowds, praying that no one would recognize her and ask for a dance or mindless conversation. She sought the nearest exit, a hallway near the back of the ballroom that happened to put a beverage table directly in Val's path. She snagged a final glass of champagne and made her escape.

As soon as she reached the hallway, lined with grand paintings on one side and floor-length windows on the other, the orchestral music faded, leaving Val to fend off the escalating voice in her head. You're a fool. He owes you nothing.

She'd mistaken Matteo's kindness for interest that stemmed beyond sexual attraction. That night in the garden, he'd warned her that he couldn't offer anything beyond that, and Val lied when she said she didn't want anything lasting or meaningful. Seeing Matteo with that other woman made her realize that she wanted it all. She wanted it with him.

Val rushed to the nearest door and pushed through, stepping out onto a small corner balcony with two couches and an unlit fire pit between them. The air smelt like rain, and dark clouds hovered above, but she didn't care. She rushed to the balcony's edge and stared at the bustling street below, leaning her elbows against the cool metal rail and taking deep breaths. She'd take as much time away from the gala as possible until the rain started.

After only a minute of solitude, however, the balcony doors opened behind her, and heavy footsteps padded against concrete. Val stiffened before turning. "I'll return to the party soon–"

She paused. She'd expected to find Luca or Matteo, maybe even Adriano, come to haul her back to the ballroom. Instead, an unknown man faced her, only the firepit separating them.

"Oh, sorry," Val apologized, tucking an unruly piece of hair behind her ear. "I thought you were someone else."

The man tucked his hands in his front pockets, an easy smirk playing on his lips. He was handsome enough, with buzzed dark hair and tattoos creeping up his neck. She guessed he belonged to a famiglia in the Cosa Nostra.

"Your fiancé?" the man questioned, cocking a brow.

Definitely a man from the Cosa Nostra, Val decided, brows furrowing. Her engagement to Ezra hadn't been announced to the public yet, so only a member of the mafia would have known her father's plans to marry her off.

"No," she countered, wiping her sweaty palms against the tight fabric around her thighs. "My bodyguard." She hoped that mentioning a guard might make this man leave her alone.

Unfortunately, the mafioso took a step closer, glancing back at the balcony doors. "Yes, the Romano principessa shouldn't be without her bodyguards," he joked, wearing a smile that didn't meet his eyes.

Val frowned, taking a small step back until her spine hit the railing. She was trapped between a three story drop and a Made Man with a hyena's grin. Unease curled deep in her stomach.

"You seem to know so much about me," she leveled, mustering icy composure. "Don't you think you at least owe me your name?"

"Of course, forgive me," the dark-haired casanova purred. "My name is Francesco Russo."

Francesco Russo. Val scoured her memories for the name. With the surname Russo, this man undoubtedly held high connections to the Russo famiglia's don, Giuseppe, but she couldn't remember the names of the boss' sons. Regardless, she hoped that Francesco's status as a high-ranking mafioso encumbered him with a shred of honor. Surely the son or nephew of a don would not take advantage of a young woman, least of all the daughter of a rival boss.