Chapter 26 Grandfather
Valentina
I wake up to a sharp buzz against my nightstand.
For a second, I think it’s an alarm—until I see the screen.
Matteo:
Grandfather arrives in 2 hours. Make yourself presentable.
You’re coming with me to the airport. Then brunch.
No good morning. No explanation. Just a command, like always.
I stare at the text, still half-asleep, and feel a rush of nerves settle into my gut.
Grandfather.
I’ve heard him mentioned only in passing—never by name, never with warmth. The man behind the Genovese legacy. The architect of whatever empire Matteo now runs. If Matteo is the sharp edge, then his grandfather is the grindstone that made him.
I sit up slowly, the soft weight of the peanut butter haze from last night still clinging to my body.
Two hours.
No time to spiral.
I throw the blankets off and rise to my feet, already cataloguing outfits in my mind. Whatever I wear today will speak for me before I open my mouth.
I need to look calm. Elegant. Controlled.
But I also need to look expensive. Owned.
Like I belong to Matteo.
Because that’s the role I’ve chosen to play—and today, the stakes just changed.
I move through the suite like a woman possessed.
Shower. Moisturizer. Hair.
I curl each section into soft waves, then smooth them into place with a touch of oil and a flick of my wrist. Not too polished—Matteo’s grandfather strikes me as the kind of man who’d mistrust anything that looks too manufactured. He’ll want real. Classic.
But also expensive.
I choose a cream blouse with a high collar and subtle pearl buttons, paired with wide-leg slacks in charcoal gray. Tailored. Understated. Power disguised as poise.
Heels—black suede, sharp at the toe. Just enough to make noise when I walk.
Accessories? Minimal. A slim gold watch, a single diamond stud in each ear, and a vintage brooch I found in one of the boutique boxes from Rosco’s shopping trip. A serpent curled into a figure eight.
Fitting.
Makeup is next. A light, even base. Soft blush. Taupe on the lids, black at the lash line. Liner only at the outer corners. Lifting mascara. Lips—rose nude, lined just enough to suggest I never forget the details.
I check myself in the mirror.
Not a hair out of place.
Not a line too sharp or too soft.
I look like the woman Matteo wants the world to think I am.
His.
But I know better.
And soon, so will his grandfather.
A knock sounds at the suite door—sharp, controlled.
Matteo.
I check my reflection one last time, then cross the room and open it.
He stands there in a dark tailored coat over an open-collared dress shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled to the forearms like he’s allergic to weakness. His eyes flick down my body, slow and deliberate.
A once-over meant to remind me who holds the power here.
Too bad I already learned how to steal it back.
His gaze lingers at my waist, then returns to my face.
He nods once. “You’ll do.”
“How generous,” I deadpan.
He smirks faintly, then lifts his arm in offering. “Shall we?”
I don’t move.
He waits.
“We should get into character now,” he says, voice low, “so we’re not scrambling when we get there.”
I roll my eyes but slip my arm through his anyway.
Warm. Firm. Just tight enough to make me wonder what role he’s really playing.
He leads me down the corridor like a man walking his bride to her coronation—or her execution.
When we reach the front door, Rosco is already waiting, standing beside the sleek black car.
Matteo opens the rear door for me himself, his hand guiding mine as I step in like we’re nothing more than a devoted couple heading off to brunch with family.
I settle into the leather seat, crossing my legs and adjusting the cuff of my sleeve with practiced ease.
He joins me a moment later.
And just like that, the curtain rises.
The SUV pulls up to the arrivals terminal and glides to a stop.
Rosco steps out first, eyes scanning the curb with practiced ease. Matteo exits next, then opens my door like we’re playing house.
We step into the stream of chilled air and chaotic energy—families reuniting, car horns blaring, wheels clattering over concrete.
Inside, baggage claim is quieter. A few waiting passengers, the soft whir of the conveyor, that sterile airport lighting humming above.
Matteo stands beside me, hands in his pockets. Rosco lingers just behind.
“He’s punctual,” Matteo says, glancing at the overhead board. “He’ll be here in two minutes.”
Exactly one minute and fifty seconds later, he appears—walking with purpose, wheeled luggage trailing behind him like a soldier returning from war.
Alessio Genovese.
Even older than I expected.
Tall and broad despite his age, with silver streaking his dark hair and deep-set eyes that miss nothing. His coat is sharply tailored, his presence unmistakable.
But it’s the contrast that unnerves me: the warmth in his smile. The way his arms open as he approaches Matteo.
“My boy,” he says, gripping Matteo by both shoulders before pulling him into a brief, powerful embrace. “You look tired.”
Matteo smirks. “You’re not wrong.”
Alessio turns to me next.
“Ah,” Matteo says, “this is Valentina. My—”
“Nonsense,” Alessio interrupts, stepping toward me. “You may call me Grandfather. Just as Matteo does.”
He takes my hand in both of his, warm and strong.
“You’re going to be my granddaughter after all,” he says with a smile that’s far too disarming for a man with that much power. “I’ve always wanted a granddaughter. Finally, someone to outsmart this idiot.”
I smile back, unsure if it’s genuine or strategic. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Keep him sharp.”
Rosco appears with the luggage, and we move back toward the car.
When we reach it, Alessio strides ahead and opens the rear door—for me.
I blink, surprised. “Thank you.”
“A lady should never have to open her own door.”
Then he moves to the passenger side.
Matteo frowns. “Sit in the back with Valentina. It’s a sign of respect.”
Alessio waves him off. “Nonsense. I’ll sit up front with Rosco. You two lovebirds sit together. I’ve had enough of solitude for one lifetime.”
Before Matteo can argue further, Alessio’s already sliding into the front seat with a satisfied grunt.
Matteo mutters something under his breath and gets in beside me.
The door shuts with a soft thud.
And just like that, the most dangerous man in the family is here.
And he’s smiling.