Page 30 of Brutal Union
"She's heading north on State," Tommy's voice crackles through the earpiece. "Maintaining distance as ordered. Torrelli's men spotted two blocks east, but they're not moving on her."
I lean back in my leather chair, signing death warrants while tracking her movements. Three rivals need to disappear after last night's territorial dispute. My signature seals their fate as I watch her pause at a crosswalk. The way she tilts her face toward the sun, breathing deep like she's been underwater for weeks, makes something twist in my chest.
Too long since I tasted her. Since she came apart on my tongue calling me husband. The memory makes me adjust myself, already hard and aching just from watching her through a fucking camera.
"Let her breathe, Tommy. But if anyone approaches her, I want to know before they're within ten feet."
The tracking device in her phone shows her path clearly, but I need eyes on her. Need to see what choices she makes when she thinks I'm not watching. But I am. Always counting: her breaths, her steps, the thirty-eight times she's touched her throat today where my mouth was this morning.
She enters Lincoln Park Zoo, and I switch to the public camera feeds my tech specialist cracked years ago. The paths are nearly empty this early on a Tuesday. She wanders slowly, stopping to read signs about animals she probably saw as a child before her mother died, before her world became cages and contracts.
Then she finds the penguins.
Twenty minutes. She stands at that glass for twenty full minutes, watching them dive and surface, dive and surface. Her hand presses against the barrier between her and their contained freedom. One caged creature watching another. If she runs, I'll hunt her to the ends of the earth.
"Boss," Tommy's voice again. "She's just… standing there."
"I can see that." My jaw clenches as a male jogger passes too close. She steps aside, and I memorize his face. Just in case.
But what I really see makes my chest tight with something darker than possession. The way her shoulders finally relax, the first genuine smile I've witnessed that isn't tinged with sarcasm or rage. She looks young suddenly. Like the twenty-three-year-old she is, not the hardened survivor she's had to become.
Let her run. Let her try. She'll learn what happens when you run from a Rosetti.
The coffee shop on North Avenue is exactly the kind of place Valentina would have frequented before I took her. Exposed brick, overpriced espresso, liberal college kids who don't know their lattes are served in a city I own.
Sarah Harrison finds her within minutes. Old college friend according to my files, pre-law at Northwestern, father's a federal judge. Dangerous connections for my wife to maintain.
"Val, oh my God." Sarah's voice carries through the bug in Valentina's phone. "Everyone's been so worried. After the wedding…"
"It's complicated."
They sit in a corner booth, Sarah leaning forward with the intensity of someone who thinks they're saving a friend. Valentina's hand drifts to her throat, fingers tracing the spot where I pressed my lips this morning, where I whispered what I'd do to her when she got home if she only asked. The unconscious gesture, that memory of contact, makes my cock twitch.
"It's not complicated," Sarah insists, voice dropping. "You were kidnapped. The FBI has a task force. My dad knows people who can…"
"Sarah, stop."
"No, Val, listen. We can get you out. Right now. There's a taxi outside. We go straight to the Federal Building. You'll be in protective custody within an hour."
The offer hangs between them like a loaded gun. This is it. The moment of truth. My hand hovers over my phone, ready to call in every soldier I have. If she gets in that taxi with Sarah, I'll burn half of Chicago to get her back.
Valentina's fingers still rest on her throat, pressing against the exact spot where my mouth was, her body holding onto me even when her mind wants to let go. "I can't."
"What do you mean you can't? Val, this is your chance…"
"I'm choosing not to." Her voice carries that edge of authority she's been developing. That Rosetti steel that makes me want to bend her over my desk and fuck her until she screams. "My situation is… managed."
"Managed? You're being held by Marco Rosetti. The Marco Rosetti. Do you understand what he's capable of?"
Valentina's laugh is dark, knowing. "Better than anyone. I've seen him break a man's hand for touching me. Watched him kill three Irish soldiers in our living room."
The casual use of 'our' makes my grip tighten on the pen until it cracks.
Sarah reaches across the table, grabs her friend's hands. "This isn't you. The Val I knew would never…"
"The Val you knew is dead." Valentina extracts her hands carefully. "I need to go."
"Val, please. Just think about it. Call me if you change your mind."
