Part 2 Eliza stopped breathing for half a second. Valente.
Part 2
Eliza stopped breathing for half a second. Valente. The name her husband had repeated for weeks. Lucian Valente, the thirty-five-year-old head of the Valente family. The man Ethan desperately wanted five minutes alone with tonight.
Depending on which rumors were true, Lucian controlled businesses ranging from luxury hotels to private security—and enough of the city’s criminal underworld that sensible people lowered their voices before saying his name.
Eliza looked from his hand to his face. “Oh.”
Lucian raised an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”
“No. I was deciding whether running would look rude. And I’m plus-size and wearing heels. You’d catch me.”
His laugh came before he could stop it. One of the men behind him actually looked over. Apparently that sound was unusual.
Lucian lowered his hand, but his attention remained fixed on her. “Come inside with me.”
Eliza stared. “You invite strange women you find crying beside your car to mafia parties often?”
“No.”
“So this is new territory for both of us, apparently.” She folded her arms. “Why?”
Lucian glanced toward the doors. “Your husband wanted to enter without you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Most people probably accepted that tone as the end of a conversation. Eliza didn’t. “I’m waiting.”
His eyes returned to hers. For the first time, something like genuine curiosity appeared in them. “I heard a man spend five minutes trying to make an intelligent woman feel small,” Lucian said. “Then I watched her make him look smaller without raising her voice.”
Eliza’s humor disappeared for a moment. “That still sounds dangerously close to pity.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“Good. I’m allergic to that, too.”
“I thought it was expensive cars.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Another almost-smile. Then Lucian offered his arm. “Come as my guest.”
Eliza looked at it but didn’t move. “Your guest. If you prefer.”
“That sounds suspiciously safe.”
Lucian tilted his head. “What would be sufficiently unsafe?”
She should leave. She knew that. Instead—perhaps because her marriage had apparently ended beside a Mercedes—Eliza heard herself say, “If we’re going to ruin my husband’s evening, at least commit to the bit.”
For the first time, Lucian looked caught off guard. Then amusement slowly appeared in his eyes. “Very well.” He offered his arm again. “Come inside as my date.”
Eliza stared at him, then at the doors. Then she slipped her hand through his arm.
“Just so we’re clear, Mr. Valente, this doesn’t mean I’m joining organized crime.”
“Lucian.”
“Fine. Lucian. I’m still not joining.”
“I hadn’t offered.”
“That’s embarrassing. I thought the interview was going well.”
He laughed again.
Together they walked inside.
The effect was immediate. Conversations softened. Heads turned. People who had ignored Eliza outside suddenly watched every step she took.
Then she saw her husband.
Ethan Hartwell stood beside a glamorous blonde woman, smiling at two businessmen as he said, “Unfortunately, my wife couldn’t make it tonight.”
His eyes moved toward the entrance. The smile vanished.
Eliza felt Lucian’s arm steady beneath her hand. Ethan stared at his wife standing beside the one man he had spent months trying to impress.
“Eliza.”
She smiled pleasantly. “You were right, Ethan.”
Hope flickered stupidly across his face.
Eliza glanced at Lucian, then around the room. “My husband had decided I wasn’t good enough to enter. I really shouldn’t have come in with you.”
Lucian’s quiet laugh was the only sound Ethan seemed able to hear.
And for the first time that night, Eliza wasn’t the one being left behind.
