Page 43 of The Broker

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VALENTINA

Lucia and Antonio are now officially in a relationship. My friend tells me this over drinks on Wednesday, her face glowing, and I’mthrilledfor her.

My childhood was always rocky. My parents got married because my mother was pregnant with me, but they hated each other and ended up resenting me for the way their lives turned out. But Lucia, she wasloved.

And then, when Lucia was eighteen and away at college, her mother got a terminal cancer diagnosis.

Inexplicably, she hid the news from her daughter. I didn’t know either. Had I known, I would have told Lucia. Instead, she kept her secret to the grave. Lucia never got a chance to say goodbye.

Then, the night she died, her father shot himself.

Lucia buried both her parents on the same day, and then she left Venice. I didn’t hear from her for over a year. I never thought she’d come back home again, and I didn’t believe she’d heal from that wound the way I didn’t think I’d ever heal from Roberto’s damage.

But I was wrong because here she is, practically incandescent with happiness. And I’m not jealous. Really. Okay, maybe I’m a little. . . not jealous, but wistful. Lucia’s joy makes mewantthings I’ve never let myself desire.

It makes me wantDante.

That orgasm. . . Poetry should be written about it. Sonnets.

I was playing with fire, and I knew it. But when he looked at me, smoldering invitation in his eyes, and told me to tie him up, to use him for my pleasure. . . What woman could resist that offer? Not me.

At first, I’d been self-conscious, painfully aware that this wasn’t a stranger. This wasDante, and he mattered.But then I took off my clothes, and his gaze drank me in, and desire overtook my nerves.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. When he licked me, my first thought was—this isn’t like my vibrator at all. It was a light, almost teasing touch, so light that it barely registered. But then his tongue flicked over my clit,and I was lost.

Dante Colonna is always so controlled. But on Saturday, he ate me out with abandon and relish, growling with pleasure, his chin sticky with my juices, his thick cock straining against his trousers.

I haven’t let myself think about it. About him. About the sparrow tattoo on his right hip. If I were to lie on top of him, the two birds would touch. I haven’t let myself wonder about its significance, and I haven’t allowed myself to replay his pronouncement.

I want you. I’m going to fight for you.

I feelsafewith Dante. And not because he was tied up. If it was anyone else in the same situation—for example, Neil Smith—I wouldn’t have felt the same way. Not even close. No, I felt safe preciselybecauseit was Dante.

Ugh.

To keep my mind occupied, I’ve thrown myself into work. We stole over a hundred million euros from Revenant, and I’ve been braced for retaliation. So far, the efforts have been rather uninspired. Phishing attacks, mostly. Tomas was sent an invoice from a cleaning company that looked legit. Thankfully, he was on high alert after my demonstration, and he checked the books and realized the cleaning company had already been paid. Had he clicked on the link, the resulting malware would have installed a key logger on every one of our networked computers. I’ve been working long hours shoring up our defenses against cyber-attacks. Because of that, I’ve had no time to research Revenant. I’m no closer to finding out who he really is.

I get back home at ten after drinks with Lucia. The house is silent. Angelica is at Mabel’s, her second sleepover in as many months. Dante isn’t back, either. He sent me a text earlier telling me he’d be late. I make my way to my office and start coding.

I’m making a virus. I haven’t forgotten Giorgio Acerbi. So far, Dante’s informant hasn’t produced the payroll information we need, causing Dante no end of frustration. He still hasn’t decided whether we use Acerbi’s devices as a way into the Bergamo network, but I want to be ready when he gives me the go-ahead.

I don’t need to start coding from scratch; I’ve made similar viruses. I start modifying the algorithm, my mind wandering as I work. It’s been more than a week since I moved into Dante’s place. Things have gone a lot better than I thought they would. I feel comfortable here, and I know why. When I open the cupboard, it’s stocked with my favorite teas. The desk in this office is identical to the one in my house. There is always a vase of flowers in my room, a daisy tucked in the blooms. It’s a thousand little things he does to make me feel at home.

And, of course, Angelica loves it here.

My phone rings, startling me out of my reverie. I glance at the screen, wondering who’s calling so late. It’s Whitney, Angelica’s dance teacher. She’s about my age, friendly and bubbly, and passionate about dance. “Valentina,” she says, sounding stressed. “I’m so sorry to call you this late at night, but I have a problem. I just got the costumes for next Thursday’s recital, but unfortunately, the company has screwed up Angelica’s outfit. It’s too small for her.”

“But the recital is just a week away,” I protest. “Is there time to order another costume?”

“That’s what I was calling you about. I just got off the phone with the vendor. They have a warehouse in Padua, and they have Angelica’s size in stock. Unfortunately, they close on Friday for three weeks for Christmas. I’m so sorry about this, but is there any way you could pick it up tomorrow?”

Padua is friendly territory. And besides, Angelica really needs her costume. “Yes,” I reply. “I can do that.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” Whitney exhales in relief. “Again, I’m so sorry about the mess, Valentina.”

I assure her it’s not a problem and then hang up. Standing up, I massage the back of my neck. My muscles are killing me. With everything going on, I’ve been slacking off on working out and taking care of myself, and my body is letting me know it’s extremely unhappy with me. I go into Dante’s bedroom and do a quick ten-minute stretching routine.