Page 48 of Unholy Union
Newlywed Heiress Sabrina Valente spotted partying with ex-boyfriend at Nocturna Nightclub
My stomach clenches as I look at the candid black-and-white photo included with the article. It’s about as salacious as the paparazzi could possibly make it, snapping the candid right as I was gyrating my hips to the music, flicking my curls over my shoulders. Matteo can be seen directly behind me, wearing an expression that can only be described as stunned glee.
The caption included with the photo is about as damning as everything else:
Sabrina Valente, 23, seen dancing with ex-boyfriend Matteo Basile, 22, at Manhattan nightclub just days after the multimillion dollar Valente-Corsini Wedding, where she married her husband, Cato Valente, 32.
The silence in the room feels agonizingly loud.
I swallow and chance a glance up at everyone else. Allegra’s sipping from her espresso with arched brows and a judgmental expression on her pinched face. Cassian’s scrolling through his phone, presumably looking for more details on social media.
Both Cato and Lazaro glare at the newspaper like they’d enjoy riddling it with bullet holes in hopes it would get rid of the problem.
But it’s Don Valente who is most concerning. He’s taken his seat at the head of the breakfast table. He’s looking across it atme and me only. His stare is a thousand times worse than his son’s, the kind of chilling stare down you give someone you’re about to send to their grave.
…which wouldn’t be unheard of in our circles.
I’m lost as to what to say. I’m not sorry for what I did—Cato deserved to be fucked with after trying to control me, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat—but I hadn’t anticipated it blowing up like this.
It hadn’t occurred to me that now that I’m part of one of New York City’s so-calledpower couples, I can’t just go out to a club and have a crazy night out.
The paps are sharks, always looking for blood in the water, and I gave it to them.
“Look,” I sigh finally. “I’m sure they’ll move on. It was only dancing.”
“It’s everywhere actually. You’ve gone viral,” laughs Cassian. “Here’s my favorite headline. It’s from thePost. Valente Vixen Goes Wild—Marriage Meltdown Imminent?”
“Enough,” says Don Valente, unamused. He points at me and Cato using his pinky and index fingers. “You two will fix this. This deal was more than signing your name on the dotted line and taking some vows at a wedding ceremony. Part of this arrangement was playing the part in public. The second you fail to do so, you jeopardize everything.
“Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass how you two really feel about each other. Neither does Rinaldo. The pact has been made. The marriage has been officiated. You two will get on the same page and make up for this. Next Saturday is the Bellarose Foundation Gala. There will be lots of press and high vis people in attendance. You’ll be there together as newlyweds—as in love as can be, do you understand?”
Cato gives a rigid nod from my side. Mine is a lot slower and more hesitant.
“Good,” he says. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
Summarily dismissed, we turn on our heels and march out of the room almost in step with each other. We might as well be children the way we’ve been scolded and ordered away. I’m ready to put distance between myself and Cato as soon as we’re in the hall, but he grabs me by the elbow to hold me back.
“Did you hear that, principessa?” he asks.
I yank my arm from him. “I have two working ears, Cato, so yes.”
“Then you know my father is a serious man. He means business, and when he makes a request, he’s not asking. Behave yourself, or you will suffer—and his suffering will be a lot worse than mine, with no one coming to save you.”
Chapter 11
Cato
COLD BLOODED - Chris Grey
My wife hasn’t insulted me once tonight, which means one of two things: either she’s plotting something or she’s finally learned to keep that smart-alecky mouth shut.
This is Manhattan, not Vegas, and we’re headed to a charity dinner, not a casino, or else I’d bet my entire inheritance that it’s the former.
It may only be two weeks into our marriage, and I may still be getting to know her, but there’s one thing I’ve learned with certainty.
Sabrina Corsini doesn’t just fall in line. If she’s obedient, there’s a reason for it. Some ulterior motive yet to be revealed but will soon emerge one way or another.
So, as we sit in the back of the town car on the way to the Bellarose Gala and she’s prim and silent in her gown, I can’t help thinking of a different night.
