Page 144 of Wicked Rivals

We both dropped our gaze, and he put me on the chair.

He sat across from me and piled still-sizzling filet mignon, garlic roasted potatoes, and seasoned broccoli onto my plate. I touched his hand to stop him from adding more.

“Thank you. This looks amazing.”

He smiled. “Good. Eat. You need your strength.”

If it weren't for the pain and the dizzy spells, having dinner with Stefano in the cozy breakfast nook might have felt like, well, like a date.

We talked about Enzo and what I wanted to do with the café. Stefano mentioned he’d contacted his contractor associate in the city. He’d set a meeting for the following week for the man to assess the damage and quote repair estimates.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I can cover it.”

He grinned. “Yeah, we found your cash.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, almost choking on a bite of meat.

“What did you do with the money?”

He brushed off my outward worry with a wave of his fork.

“It's safe. That's part of what we’ll talk about later.”

With a hesitant bobbing of my head, I agreed.

We finished eating in silence.

My mind reeled as I peeked at him from under my lashes, watching him cut his food and chew. I couldn’t be so sure about who he really was now.

Still the same man I’d fallen for years ago?

Could Stefano still be the sweet, caring man who liked to laugh at my dirty jokes? The man who had been so gentle with me while teaching me about desire and pleasure.

My first lover. My only lover.

Or had he truly become the Vignali boss? A coldhearted killer who only a few nights before had thrown me around the room and ripped the pleasure from my body like he owned it, like I owed it to him, because he always took what he wanted.

And my god, just who the hell was I?

When I first met Stefano, I pretended to be Valerie Salera, the friendly neighborhood barista. A single Italian girl with no baggage. I wanted to be that girl. But that girl never really existed. She’d been a facade.

Because at my core, in my heart, in my soul, I had always been someone else.

Something else.

A mafia princess from Chicago.

A girl presumed dead.

Me.

Valentina Moscatelli.

A shock pulsed through my blood, forcing my heart to race. I hadn’t let myself even think those words, to say my own name, for so very long.

I thought I’d gotten rid of Valentina forever.

But when that fucking psychopath Luka took me, when he shot me, when he chained me to the wall in that basement, Valerie Salera disappeared.

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