The Mafia's CEO Runaway Wife

*Valentine pov* The bank manager stopped smiling before Valentine Rose Harper did. That was how she knew something was terribly wrong. She sat across from him in her father's private office, one ankle resting over the other, pretending she hadn't noticed the way he kept glancing at the folder between them. “Mr. Collins,” she said slowly, “if you're about to tell me my father's company is bankrupt, please don't use the word restructuring. Rich people invented that word because bankruptcy sounds embarrassing.” The manager's mouth twitched. It disappeared almost immediately. Valentine's smile followed. Her father, Edward Harper, sat behind his desk with both hands clasped together. He had been staring at the same spot on the carpet for the past five minutes. That scared her more than the folder. Her father never stared at carpets. He once spent twenty minutes lecturing a waiter because the restaurant's carpet had a stain shaped like a chicken. “Dad?” Edward looked up. “Valentine, I need you to listen.” “No.” She leaned back. “Whenever parents say that, somebody is either dying, getting divorced, or about to ask their child for money.” “Valentine.” “Fine. I'm listening.” The bank manager quietly slid the folder toward her. She looked at it. Then at him. Then at her father. “What's this?” “Outstanding liabilities,” her father said. Valentine opened the folder. The first page made sense. The second was unpleasant. The third made her sit straighter. By the fourth, the numbers had stopped looking like numbers and started looking like a personal insult. She flipped backward. Then forward again. “Dad.” “I know.” “No, I don't think you do.” Her finger landed on the final figure. “Is that real?” Edward swallowed. “Yes.” Valentine stared at the amount. Eight figures. Her brain politely refused to process it. She looked toward the bank manager. “Could you possibly have added an extra zero?” “No.” “Two zeros?” “Miss Harper—” “I'm trying to help you.” Her father closed his eyes. She stopped joking. That was the moment the room changed. Valentine lowered the papers. “Dad, what happened?” Edward's shoulders dropped. It was such a small movement, but she had never seen him look old before. Not really. Her father had always been the man who walked into rooms as if the room belonged to him. The man who remembered every employee's birthday and could negotiate a million-dollar deal while eating soup. Now his fingers were trembling slightly against the desk. “Three months ago, I discovered someone had been moving company funds.” Valentine's stomach tightened. “How much?” “Enough.” “That's not an amount.” “Valentine.” “Dad, please.” He looked at her. She wished he hadn't. Because suddenly she wasn't looking at the businessman everyone respected. She was looking at her father. The man who used to cut sandwiches into ridiculous shapes because she'd refused to eat normal ones. The man who still called her every Sunday even when she complained about being busy. Her voice came out quieter. “How bad is it?” Edward hesitated. “The company is carrying debts we cannot cover.” Valentine slowly placed the folder down. “And the bank?” “Wants repayment.” “By when?” “Thirty days.” A laugh escaped her. It wasn't funny. It simply came out because sometimes the human body apparently had terrible timing. “Thirty days?” Edward nodded. Valentine stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor. She began pacing. Three steps toward the window. Turn. Three steps back. “Okay. Fine. We sell something.” “Everything valuable is already tied up.” “Then we borrow.” “We've exhausted our credit.” “Investors?” “Gone.” “Friends?” Edward's silence answered. Valentine stopped. She looked at him. Her father's eyes dropped. That hurt more than the numbers. She moved closer to his desk. “You should've told me.” “I wanted to protect you.” “From what? Arithmetic?” His mouth tightened. She immediately regretted it. “I'm sorry.” Edward rubbed his forehead. “I didn't want you carrying this.” “Well, congratulations. I'm carrying it now.” A tiny, tired smile appeared on his face. Valentine hated that she wanted to cry. She hated even more that she couldn't. Crying wouldn't pay eight figures. It would only make her mascara expensive soup. Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. It buzzed again. “Your phone,” Edward said. “I know what it is.” “Then answer it.” “No. If it's a delivery driver, I'm going to cry.” Her phone buzzed a third time. Valentine finally pulled it out. Unknown number. She stared at it. Something about the timing made the hair along her arms rise. She answered. “Hello?” A man's voice came through. Calm. Deep. Unhurried. “Valentine Rose Harper?” Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Who is this?” “Lorenzo Romano.” The name meant nothing for exactly two seconds. Then her father's face changed. Valentine slowly turned toward him. Edward had gone completely still. She covered the phone. “Dad?” He didn't answer. His expression did. And for the first time that afternoon, Valentine forgot how to joke. Lorenzo Romano wasn't calling about the debt. Judging by her father's face, he was the reason it existed.