Page 65 of The Broker
“Two days ago, I told you I loved you. You could have told me then,” she continues relentlessly. “But you didn’t.” She looks straight at me. “This isn’t about protecting me; this is about respect. You don’t respect me enough to trust me with the truth. You didn’t treat me like a partner, Dante. You treated me like a child.”
“Valentina,” I start helplessly. “I fucked up. But please listen to me. I respect the hell out of you. I never intended for—”
“I have only one more question. Were you ever planning on telling me?”
She’s offering me a tiny sliver of hope. I could seize it. I could lie and assure her I would have told her about my encounter with Roberto. I could do whatever is necessary to salvage our relationship.
But she deserves so much better than that.
She deserves so much better than me.
“No.” I clench my hands into fists. “I’ve woken up every day this last month, wondering if I’m dreaming. You were here, you and Angelica, and I had everything I ever wanted. I’d like to pretend I would have told you about Roberto, but the truth?” God, it hurts to keep going. Each word widens the chasm between us. “The truth is, I didn’t want anything to disrupt what we had.”
“Everything we had,” she whispers, “and everything we were was built on a foundation of lies.” She lets go of the pillow and raises her head. “I think Angelica and I should leave. We’ll go back to our apartment.”
“You can’t,” I say desperately, grasping at straws. “It’s not safe. You don’t want to risk Angelica’s li—”
“Please don’t.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears and is holding them back with a sheer force of will. “Please don’t use my love for my daughter against me.”
I fall silent. She reaches behind her neck and unclasps the necklace I gave her. Carefully, she sets it on the coffee table. “I’m not going to stop you from seeing Angelica; you’re her uncle, and she loves you. But you’re not in my life any longer. Whatever we had—it’s over.”
30
VALENTINA
Dante doesn’t want us to leave. I know him—I can read it in every frustrated line of his body. But he doesn’t stop me. He might be perfectly okay forbidding me from going on field missions, but he isn’t going to imprison me here against my will.
He’s not Roberto. He’s not going to take his happiness at the expense of mine.
I move on autopilot, my heart breaking with each step. I head upstairs to my bedroom and throw my clothes into a suitcase. I’m still doing that when Angelica returns home. “What are you doing?” she asks, a note of accusation in her voice. “Why are you packing your clothes, Mama?”
“We’re leaving tonight,” I say flatly. “I heard from the contractor, and our apartment is ready. It’s time to go home.”
Angelica sets her jaw mutinously. “But I don’t want to leave. I like it here.”
Have you ever felt the urge to lose it and scream at your kid? I haven’t, not until now. Angelica is generally a very good child. “Our apartment is ready,” I repeat through gritted teeth. “We had to stay here while it was getting painted. That’s all. This is not our house, Angelica. This is Dante’s house, and it’s time for us to leave.” I press my lips shut to keep from screaming and silently count to ten. “Pack your things. Please don’t argue with me.”
My kid is very emotionally intelligent. She never told me about the princess bed Dante bought her. And she hinted that she would like me and Dante to get together but never outright said the words. So she must hear the emotion I’m trying to suppress because she takes one look at my face and realizes I’m not okay. “Okay, Mama,” she says, oh-so-quietly. “I’ll pack my stuff.”
I help her get her belongings into a suitcase. “Don’t forget Diny,” I say, reminding her about the tutu-clad velociraptor guarding the windowsill.
She looks at the toy. “Diny can stay here,” she replies. “Uncle Dante will be lonely when we leave. Diny can keep him company.”
I swallow the sob in my throat. “Good idea.”
I don’t know how I will survive the next couple of hours. Keeping busy helps. Angelica’s stuff is, predictably, all over the house. I climb up and down the stairs, gathering everything. I dread running into Dante—my composure is a fragile shell that will shatter at the slightest pressure. But he stays out of sight, locked in his bedroom. It’s only when I’m zipping up Angelica’s suitcase that he appears, standing in the doorway. “I’m going to the office,” he says, his gaze flickering to my daughter before resting on me. “Leo will be here shortly. He’s going to help you transport your computers.”
“I don’t need them.”
The words come out instinctively, but the more I think about it, the more I know it’s the right thing to do. My world has been tilted off its axis at this revelation. When everything slots into place for this new normal, I don’t think I’ll be able to work for Antonio’s organization again. The padrino kept the true circumstances of Roberto’s death a secret from me for ten years. I only went to work for him because I thought I owed him a debt of gratitude, and he knew it. He wanted my skills and let me believe a lie. Antonio Moretti has a reputation for being ruthless, but I’ve never seen it before.
I see it now.
But Antonio’s betrayal doesn’t cut as deep as Dante’s. It’s Dante I can’t face every day at work. My crushed heart won’t be able to stand it. Not now, not after what we shared. I need to walk away from this life, no matter how much I love it.
Dante stares at me for a long moment but doesn’t say anything. He turns and climbs the stairs, heading back to his bedroom. I load a game on my iPad for Angelica, then go to my bedroom to continue packing.
The pendant Dante gave me for Christmas, the one I left downstairs on the coffee table, is on my pillow.