Page 2 of Valentino

I jerk to the side and jump to my feet, cursing when I see my gun a few feet away from me on the ground.

“Don’t even think about it,” the woman says, causing me to whip my head in her direction.

She has a goddamn Glock pointed at me, and I’m not sure whether to be furious that she outsmarted me or impressed that this five-foot-nothing trespasser has me dead to rights within seconds of meeting me. Not many people can say they’ve gotten the drop on me. Actually, no one has, that I can remember.

I raise my hands, palms out, in surrender, as I take stock of my new situation. My gun is out of reach. My knife is on me, but I can’t get to it without risking a bullet to the brain. Training my gaze on the threat, I notice the gun is shaking. The woman is shaking, too. Trembling, in fact, from head to toe.

Her eyes tell a different story. I see a fierce look I recognize all too well; the animalistic need to survive. A golden flame flickers in her irises, a warning to anyone that her light won’t easily be extinguished.

I have no idea who the hell this woman is, though the more I look at her, the more familiar she seems. Still, I know she’s seen some shit. She’s fought for her life from the moment she was born, and she managed to claw her way out, only to come face to face with a mafia captain and his gun. She’s the exact kind of wild card with nothing to lose that I was at her age.

Maybe that’s why I feel this inexplicable connection to her. She’s young and terrified and angry at the world, and some part of me has the crazy urge to be the one person she can trust.

I take a step forward, my hands still up in surrender, and the woman shoves her weapon further toward me, though it slips from her sweaty grip slightly.

“You’re going to hurt yourself more than me with that thing,” I tell her, playing everything off like it’s no big deal. She’s desperate to project confidence and control, so letting her know I’m not phased is key.

“Bold, for someone with a gun pointed at their head,” she quips. I’ll give her credit, her voice is steady and full of venom.

“I hate to break it to you, princess, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had a weapon drawn on me.”

Her face turns pale, those round eyes growing impossibly bigger at something I said. “How did you…?”

I take advantage of her apparent confusion and move a few steps closer. “How did I what?” I ask smoothly.

“H-how did you know who I am?”

I raise an eyebrow and give her an enigmatic smile, not wanting to give away that I have no idea what she’s talking about. I wish I knew who she was. The woman looks familiar and exotic at the same time. It’s something to do with her eyes…

Princess.

The word pops into my head. I called her princess. I have no idea why I did that. It just came out of my mouth. Is that what she means? Her name is Princess?

Oh, fuck.

It hits me like a lead pipe to the sternum. Princess isn’t her name, it’s herposition.

Katya Colombo, daughter of Marco Colombo, the head of the rival family we’re on the brink of war with. She’s a mafia princess. A sheltered one at that, presumably to keep prying eyes off her. There’s no way this coddled woman knows how to load and shoot a gun.

In one swift and calculated move, I snag the weapon from her trembling hand, sliding it across the concrete floor a good hundred feet away or so. Grabbing my own piece from where she knocked it out of my hand, I point it at her, turning the tables once more.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Katya?” I spit out. I can’t believe I felt sorry for her, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Every woman I’ve ever known is only out for their own interests. They’ll lie, cheat, steal, and manipulate anyone and everyone to further their agenda. Of course, Katya is no different.

“Not what you think,” she answers, standing her ground.

She knows I won’t kill her. Not yet, at least. Katya could be an important player in our war.

“Doesn’t matter much what I think,” I scoff. “But the Boss will be interested to know who our little trespasser is. Maybe we’ll hold you for ransom or send you back with a message,” I muse, though the words sound hollow to my ears.

Each one physically pains me, though I can’t for the life of me understand why. She’s the enemy. She’s leverage. I shouldn’t care about her safety, and I certainly shouldn’t hesitate to call Romeo and tell him who I found.

And yet, I know deep down that I don’t want anyone else to know. I don’t want anyone else to touch her. Fuck me, these possessive feelings over another human are intense and unwelcome, and I’m not sure what to do about them.

“If you send me back to my family, I better be in a body bag,” Katya says with a surprising amount of conviction. “I’m done with them. I want nothing to do with their plans, their wars, their agendas. I’m done being a pawn. So if you want to send a message, by all means, go for it. Sending my father my head on a platter would do the trick.”

Katya further shocks me by spreading her arms out as if bracing for an execution shot. That’s when I see blood soaking through her shirt, on her left side, right about where her ribs are.

The air drains from my lungs so quickly I grow lightheaded. An unfamiliar sensation strikes at my core like a flash of lightning, electrocuting every nerve as I watch the red stain grow larger.

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