Chapter 80 Eyes Wide Open
Valentina
When Matteo told me to come with him to Ravello for business, I didn’t ask questions.
I didn’t need to.
This wasn’t just about being arm candy or paraded around like some polished trophy wife. This was proximity. Access. It meant he trusted me—enough to let me watch him handle things, enough to want me close while decisions were made. That was a win. A big one.
If I played this right, if I kept collecting these little moments of access, of shadowing his moves, then when the day came that he disappeared—by my hand or his own hubris—I’d already be wearing his shoes.
Talking with Calder didn’t take long at all. Matteo was very quick and efficient and wasted no more energy on the man than necessary.
When Calder left, I made a mental note to check the files. There was obviously a resemblance between that girl and Isla. It might’ve been nothing, but nothing was rarely ever just nothing. And if Isla wasn’t her, then that meant she was still missing.
That thought was still circling my mind when the manager walked up to us at the bar, whispering something to Matteo. He glanced at me, then nodded.
“Come on,” he said. “I insist on interviewing every dancer myself.”
That surprised me. But I stood and followed him and Rosco back to one of the club’s private lounges that doubled as an office. Rosco dropped into the small desk chair in the corner like it was routine. Matteo guided me toward the velvet sofa and let his hand linger on my lower back as we sat.
A few minutes later, the manager returned with the girl.
She was… not what I expected.
Thin. Too thin. Jeans with holes in the knees, Converse sneakers, a washed-out hoodie that swallowed her frame. She looked like a high schooler who got lost on the way to a shelter.
Matteo gestured to the chair across from us. “Go ahead and sit. This is Valentina.”
The girl nodded at me. Nervous. Fidgety.
“What’s your name?” Matteo asked.
“Tabitha.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“ID?”
She handed it over. Matteo passed it to Rosco, who studied it at his desk, then shot Matteo a look as he handed it back. A subtle shake of the head.
Matteo didn’t call it out. Not yet.
“So why do you want to work here?”
“I need money. For college.”
“That right?” He cocked his head. “What are you going to study?”
The hesitation was obvious. She blinked. “Uh…”
“Haven’t decided?”
She shook her head quickly, clearly relieved he didn’t press harder.
Matteo’s voice softened. “You’re all covered up. Take off your hoodie so we can get a better look at you. I’m not asking you to get naked, just want to see what we’re working with.”
She hesitated.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “you can’t be a dancer if you’re shy.”
She peeled off the hoodie slowly.
Her shirt rode up as she tugged it over her head, revealing the faint shadows of bruises on her ribs. Her arms, too—fresh and fading marks.
She yanked her sleeves down quickly. I could see the panic, the shame, the desperation in her eyes.
My stomach turned.
Matteo’s voice was low. “Okay. How about the truth now?”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
He leaned forward. “Sure you do. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want the truth. Start with your real age.”
A long pause. Then, soft as a whisper— “Seventeen.”
He sighed. “And who are you trying to get away from?”
“I’m not—”
“The bruises. The weight loss. You look like you haven’t eaten a full meal in months.”
Silence.
“My stepfather.” She finally admitted.
Matteo’s voice dropped. “Does he do anything else besides beat you?”
Her eyes darted away. She didn’t have to answer. Her silence screamed.
“Put your hoodie back on.”
Her shoulders sagged.
“You’re not dancing here. Not anywhere. But you’re not going back home either.”
She looked up sharply.
“I have a friend,” he continued. “Her and her partner—both women—run a home in a quiet town not far from here. You’d have a bed, real meals, therapy, school… a shot at being a normal kid again.”
She didn’t speak.
“It’s not a prison. If you hate it, we’ll give you some cash and help you go somewhere else. But if you stay, all we ask is you go to school, help around the house, attend therapy. The rest? You just live. Heal. Decide who you want to be.”
My throat tightened.
This man—this monster I’d been plotting to destroy—was giving a bruised, terrified girl a way out.
It didn’t erase what I’d found in those files. It didn’t absolve him.
But damn it…
It made him harder to hate.
And harder still to understand.
Matteo didn’t look at me. He didn’t need to. His jaw was set, his voice calm—but I saw the tension rippling beneath his skin.
Without thinking, I reached out and rested my hand on his knee.
A flicker. Barely a second.
Then his hand dropped and covered mine. Warm. Steady. Gentle in a way that caught me off guard.
He gave a single squeeze, nothing more. But it said everything.
I pulled my hand back and stood slowly.
The girl tracked my movement, eyes wide, unsure.
“Come on,” I said softly, walking toward her. “Let’s get you some food first.”
She blinked. “Food?”
“Yeah. A hot meal. Then we’ll talk next steps.”
Matteo and Rosco both rose with me, silent shadows moving in sync. For all their muscle and menace, they didn’t loom. They gave space. She looked between us, then reached out and slipped her hand into mine like a child stepping out of the dark.
We left through the back, where the SUV was already waiting. Rosco climbed behind the wheel without a word. Matteo slid into the passenger seat, and I helped Tabitha into the backseat beside me.
“Anything sound good to eat?” I asked her.
She hesitated. “Pizza?”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
There was a pizza place two blocks over, and Rosco pulled into the curb while Matteo called in the order. Within minutes, we had a warm box in the car and the sharp, comforting scent of melted cheese filled the cabin.
The farther we drove, the quieter she got—until the club lights faded in the rearview and the city gave way to empty roads.
Matteo glanced back at her through the mirror. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to disappear. Starting tonight.”
Her mouth parted. “Disappear?”
“You’ll go somewhere safe. Far from this city. I’ve already gave a heads up, Estella and Sheryl will be waiting for you.
Tabitha said nothing. But I could see the trembling in her jaw. The war happening behind her eyes.
Matteo’s voice was low. “Your mother let him hurt you. She didn’t stop him. And that means she doesn’t deserve a second chance. You only get one life. Don’t waste it waiting for people to grow a conscience.”
“And don’t worry about clothes or shoes or anything else,” I added. “You’ll have everything you need. I’ll make sure of it.”