Page 48 of Brutal Union
"Val, you don't mean that. Stockholm syndrome—"
"Stop." Her hand moves back, finding mine on the table, covering it completely. The gesture is protective, possessive, a public claim that stops my breath. "You think you're rescuing me? From what? A man who values my intelligence? Who implements my strategies? Who trusts me with his family?"
"He kidnapped you!"
"Yes, he did." She squeezes my hand, and I feel the slight tremor in her fingers, the courage this is taking. "And I chose to stay. I choose to stay every single day."
The crowd watches, transfixed. They don't understand the complexity of what we are, but they recognize power when they see it.
James takes a step back, confusion replacing righteousness. "This isn't you. The Val I knew would never—"
"The Val you knew was dying slowly in her father's house, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder." Her voice carries steel beneath silk now. "You wanted to save me? Where were you when my father announced my engagement to Liam O'Brien? When I was being dressed up like a prize heifer for an Irish alliance?"
"I didn't know— Your father threatened—"
"Because you walked away the moment things got complicated. The moment my last name became too heavy for your normal life." She laughs, bitter and beautiful. "At least Marco never pretended I could be something other than what I am. Never asked me to be less so he could feel like more."
I watch her defend me, defend us, and something fundamental shifts inside me. This woman who threw wine in my face, who fought me for weeks, is now standing between me and perceived danger like she's my soldier, my enforcer.
"You're making a mistake," James says quietly.
"Maybe." She turns to look at me, and the expression on her face stops my heart. "But it's my choice to make."
James stands there for another moment, looking between us. Whatever he sees in her face, in the way she positions herself as my shield rather than seeking shelter behind me, makes him step back.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Val."
"For the first time in my life, I do."
He leaves then, shoulders slumped in defeat. The cafe slowly returns to life, conversations resuming in hushed whispers. But I can't focus on any of it because Valentina is still holding myhand, still standing like my personal enforcer between me and the world.
"Sit down," I say softly.
She does, but doesn't release my hand. Her fingers interlace with mine on the table, visible to everyone. Claiming me as publicly as I've ever claimed her.
"You defended me," I say, still processing what just happened.
"I defended us." She meets my gaze steadily. "There's a difference."
Us. The word hangs between us, heavy with implications neither of us is ready to fully voice.
As we leave, I notice the hostile stares from other patrons, the way they shrink back as we pass. Valentina squeezes my hand, chin high, unashamed of her choice. The gesture makes my chest tight.
The car ride back starts in complete silence. Rain hits the windows in steady drops as Tommy navigates through Chicago traffic. Valentina sits close to me in the backseat, closer than necessary, her thigh pressed against mine. The contact burns through my expensive suit, straight to my cock.
She turns to look at me, and there's something in her eyes I've never seen before. Not fear, not defiance, not even the desire I've grown addicted to. Something deeper.
"Did you expect me to run with him?" she asks quietly. "Jump at the chance for a normal life with a safe man?"
"The thought crossed my mind."
"Then you don't know me as well as you think." She looks out the window at the city passing by. "James would have tried to fix me. Make me into someone acceptable for his world. Clean up my edges, hide my family name, pretend the darkness in me doesn't exist."
"And I?"
"You see the darkness and match it with your own." She turns back to me. "You don't want me despite what I am. You want me because of it."
The truth of her words hits deep. I think about the other night, how she looked on her knees for me, powerful in her submission. Think about her strategic mind, the way she sees violence as a tool rather than a horror. Think about how she stitches my wounds without flinching, tends to my violence like it's just another part of whatever this is becoming.
