Page 114 of Chris

Valeria wouldn’t say it out loud, but she doubted she had the strength or energy to carry her daughter inside the building. She was happy to follow behind Alessio as he strolled through the main lobby of the hotel as though he knew where he was going, and he had been here before.

Maybe he had.

How long were they planning this?

Valeria knew better than to ask.

It didn’t matter.

She was free.

“We should get a call soon,” he said as they stepped into an elevator.

“From who?”

“Whoever is still alive at the ranch.”

Valeria stiffened.

A cold dread slipped down her spine.

Alessio chuckled, passing her a look. “Mmm, and now you know what I have been thinking for the last several hours. It was me, or Corrado, though, and since he is the only one who looks like Christopher, it made sense for him to go in. Which meant, no matter what, I had to stay behind … our—Ginevra, well, at least one of us has to go home. That’s what we promised her. This time, it’s me.”

Valeria smiled, as faint as it was. “Him, too, I’m sure.”

“He better.”

She heard it loud and clear in his tone—that threat again. Only this time, she realized he wasn’t only making it for the woman in his life, but because he loved someone back at the ranch, too. She understood that feeling all too well.

It ached in her chest, too.

Soon, the elevator reached the floor that Alessio had chosen, the structure jumping before the doors slid open to expose a hallway that led to only one door at the end. At her questioning glance, he shrugged.

“Marcellos have expensive taste,” he said. “And he wanted the best for his wife while she waited. I guess she didn’t want to stay in New York … she wanted to see you as soon as she could.”

Valeria froze. “Do you mean—”

“Val? Oh, my God, Val!”

Haven.

Valeria found her best friend coming out of the door down the hall. The person who had helped to protect her for years when she was hiding from Jorge, who helped to raise her daughter … the woman who helped to teach Maria how to speak English, who read her daughter nighttime stories when Valeria had to work late nights, and couldn’t be there to put her child to bed.

Haven.

She hadn’t been able to think much about her friend after Jorge caught and took her back if only because she didn’t want to draw attention to Haven. God forbid the cartel go after Haven when all she had done was help.

“Haven,” Valeria said, her voice faint, locking gazes with the blonde-headed woman down the hall. “Why did you do all of this for me?”

Haven, in her skinny jeans and silk blouse, tall and confident, head high because she had always been proud, came forward with arms already opened. “It was nothing … nothing you wouldn’t have done for me. I’m sorry it took so long.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be sorry for that … don’t be.”

It was all she said before her beautiful friend came all the way down the hall to wrap her in a hug that reminded her of home. That was the thing—Valeria never had a home for so many years, and then she stumbled upon this woman. Who gave her a place to live, fed her, taught her how to survive, and helped her raise her child.

She adored Haven.