Page 44 of The Broker
The massive king-size bed is right there. The linens are rumpled, and the pillows are scattered. Marta doesn’t come in until tomorrow to clean. A sweater is carelessly tossed on the mattress. I pick it up. It smells like Dante—sandalwood and musk, with a hint of pine. It makes me think of wide-open spaces, lazy summers and hot, passionate sex.
Sex homework.I wonder what Dante’s assignments would have been. Going by the first one, I would have enjoyed myself.A lot.
Instead, I ran away.
I’m not a safe person. After all, I’m a hacker for the mafia. Being adventurous, taking risks—it’s in my blood. But I have Angelica to think about. If Dante and I hook up and things end, I don’t think I’ll be able to be in the same room as him again.
And it’s definitely going to end. This is a guy who owns seven cars. Each one is his favorite until he buys the next. Sure, I have no proof he has the same attitude toward women, but I also have no proof it’s not. I can’t take the risk; I can’t do that to Angelica. My daughteradoresDante, and I need to prioritize what’s best for her. I can’t let my desire drive my decisions.
Dante hasn’t pushed. He hasn’t tried to kiss me again, hasn’t tried to get me into his bedroom. But he watches me, and I’m painfully aware of him. Every time his gaze meets mine, my heart thumps in my chest. A repeat of Saturday night seems inevitable, and the prolonged anticipation is almost unbearable.
That’s the moment Dante opens the door. A spark lights in his eyes when he sees me next to his bed, his sweater in my hand, and my nose buried in the cashmere.
“What are you doing, Valentina?”
21
DANTE
If I’m not mistaken, Valentina is clutching my sweater and sniffing it. A shock of primal male satisfaction jolts through me.She’s interested.She’s still deciding if she is going to do anything about it, but she’s definitely interested.
I can work with that.
She lifts her chin in the air. “You’re very messy,” she says rebukingly. “This is a cashmere sweater, and I found it on the floor.”
“Really?” I tilt my head to the side. “I thought I left it on the bed.”
She flushes pink. “I just got a call from Angelica’s dance teacher. There was some kind of mix-up with the costumes for her upcoming dance recital, and Angelica’s costume was too small. I have to go to Padua to pick up a new costume tomorrow. I can take the train—”
I’m about to ask her if she’s insane but think better of it. “I’ll drive you,” I say instead. “When do you need to go?”
“They’re open until five tomorrow.”
“After breakfast, then?”
“That’ll work. Thank you, Dante.”
“See? Progress. I didn’t call you reckless, and you didn’t call me an overbearing asshole. You’re welcome.” I wink at her. I probably shouldn’t provoke her, but what can I say? I like to live dangerously. “Can we get back to talking about my sweater?”
She flings it down on the bed, gives me a death glare, and marches out of my bedroom.
I store my cars in Mestre. From the outside, the building looks like a nondescript warehouse near the docks. Inside, it’s a shrine to Italian automobile design. I hold my hand to the fingerprint scanner, and the lock opens. The lights flicker on, my cars gleaming under the spotlights.
Valentina rolls her eyes. “Single-handedly keeping the Italian car industry afloat, I see,” she remarks wryly.
I laugh. “What else am I going to do with my money? It’s this or get Angelica a pony.”
“Do not buy my daughter a pony, Dante,” she says repressively. “Which car are you going to take today?”
“The ’54 Spider.” The 1954 Ferrari 500 Mondial Spider Series dates back to the early years of the racing company. This particular car was sold by Enzo Ferrari himself. It’s the crown jewel of my collection.
She gives me a strange look. “Your newest acquisition? This is the car you bought at auction last year, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” It might be new to my collection, but I’ve wanted this car for a very long time. They only built thirty-two of them, and I couldn’t believe my luck when this one came up for sale. Even though it was fire-damaged and needed a lot of work to restore it to its original form, I hadn’t hesitated. “I’ve had my eye on this beauty forever,” I say fondly, running my hand over the hood. “Haven’t I, sweetheart?”
“Oh, great. You’re one of those guys who talks to their cars.”
She might sound grouchy, but her eyes keep returning to the Spider. “Would you like to drive her?”