Page 15

Chapter Fifteen

Viviana

The air feels heavy as I pace my room two days later, the ghost of Romeo’s touch lingering on my skin.

My mind races, every nerve alight with a mixture of anger and confusion. He has this uncanny ability to unnerve me, to draw me in even when every instinct tells me to run. I hate him for it.

I hate myself more for how my body reacts, betraying me at every turn.

I press my hands to my stomach, the faint swell there a reminder of the secret I’m carrying. My child—his child. The stakes are higher now, and I can’t let his twisted obsession consume me.

If I don’t act, I’ll lose not just my freedom, but any chance of giving this baby a life outside of Romeo’s suffocating control.

I glance toward the window, the city lights a distant taunt. I’ve spent enough time here studying his routines, his men, and the way this gilded cage operates.

Romeo is meticulous, his presence omnipresent even when he’s not physically here. But tonight, he’s away handling Mafia business—something about Salvatore, though I didn’t catch the details. It’s the perfect opportunity.

I sit on the edge of the bed, formulating a plan. The kitchen is stocked with supplies I could use—knives, ropes, maybe even something to create a distraction. I need to move quickly before the guards become suspicious.

With a deep breath, I open the door and step into the hallway. The penthouse is eerily quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by an oppressive stillness. My bare feet make no sound against the cold marble as I make my way toward the kitchen, my heart pounding with every step.

When I reach the kitchen, I exhale in relief. It’s empty, the dim light casting long shadows across the countertops.

I move quickly, opening drawers and cabinets, searching for anything useful. A paring knife catches my eye, and I grab it, slipping it into the pocket of my coat.

A length of twine hangs from a hook by the pantry, and I snatch it too, wrapping it tightly around my hand. My fingers tremble as I work, every sound amplified in the silence. I’ve never felt so exposed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The voice freezes me in place, cold and sharp. I turn slowly to see Matteo standing in the doorway, his broad frame filling the entrance. His arms are crossed, his expression fierce, there’s a glint in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine.

“I was—” I stammer, scrambling for an excuse. “I just needed something to—”

“Spare me,” Matteo interrupts, stepping into the room. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to?”

My pulse quickens as he moves closer, his gaze dropping to the twine clutched in my hand. He shakes his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he says, his voice low. “But boldness won’t save you from him.”

I straighten, trying to summon some semblance of defiance. “I don’t need saving,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I need freedom.”

Matteo’s expression hardens, and he steps closer, his presence looming. “Do you have any idea what he’ll do if you betray him? If you run?”

I swallow hard, refusing to let him see the fear bubbling inside me. “Then let him find me,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “I’ll deal with him.”

Matteo chuckles, though there’s no humor in it. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about you. If you run, he’ll burn the world to the ground to find you. When he does, there won’t be anywhere you can hide.”

I flinch at his words, but I hold my ground. “I don’t care,” I lie. “I’ll take my chances.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re making a mistake. You think his obsession is something you can use against him, but it’s not a weakness. It’s what makes him dangerous.”

The words sink in, but I push them aside. I can’t let fear stop me. I glance toward the door, calculating the distance, the odds of slipping past him. Matteo follows my gaze, his smirk returning.

“I should drag you back to your room,” he says, his tone cold. “I won’t.”

I blink, surprised. “What?”

“I’m letting you go,” he says, his expression dark. “Consider this your only warning: if you run, he’ll never forgive you. Neither will I.”

For a moment, I can’t speak, my mind racing. Is he serious, or is this some kind of test, another way for Romeo to tighten his hold on me?

Matteo steps aside, gesturing toward the hallway. “Go ahead. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I hesitate, my heart pounding. Every instinct screams at me to take the chance, to run while I still can. As I look at Matteo, at the grim set of his jaw, doubt creeps in. He’s not bluffing. Romeo will come for me, and when he does, the consequences will be unimaginable.

I clutch the twine in my hand, my resolve faltering. Slowly, I step back, the weight of my decision pressing down on me.

Matteo watches me with a knowing look, his voice quiet as he speaks. “Smart choice.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I turn and leave the kitchen, my mind a whirlwind of fear, frustration, and anger.

“I won’t let Romeo know what you did today. I’m not trying to scare you,” he says evenly. “I’m trying to save you from making the worst mistake of your life.”

“Staying here is the mistake,” I bite back, the anger bubbling up again. “Living under his thumb, being watched every second—it’s not living.”

Matteo sighs, shaking his head. “You don’t understand him. Not yet, but you will.”

The cryptic warning lingers as I turn and leave, his words cutting deeper than I want to admit.

Back in my room, Matteo’s words churn in my mind like a storm I can’t escape. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door as if willing it to open would bring answers—or freedom. My hands clutch the twine I managed to take, a small, useless victory in the face of a much larger war.

His warning replays over and over: You don’t understand him. Not yet, but you will.

I hate the cryptic way he spoke, as if I’m a chess piece in a game too big to comprehend. But there was something else in his tone, something that unsettled me: pity.

The quiet of the penthouse presses in on me, suffocating. I need air, a distraction, anything to keep from spiraling. Against my better judgment, I leave my room again, moving through the halls with cautious steps.

Romeo’s study door is slightly ajar, the faint hum of voices drawing me closer. I shouldn’t stop. I shouldn’t eavesdrop.

I do.

“I told you,” Romeo’s voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it, a simmering anger beneath the surface. “I want to deal with Salvatore before I marry her. I need to find him and end the threat.”

“If he targets civilians?” another voice counters, calm but insistent. It must be another of his men. I left Matteo just a moment ago in the kitchen.

A pause. My breath catches as I press myself against the wall, listening intently.

“He won’t risk an open war,” Romeo says finally, though his tone is less certain. “He’s trying to provoke me, to make me look weak. That’s all this is.”

“Still, the rumors—”

“I’ve heard them,” Romeo cuts in sharply. “Salvatore’s trying to destabilize my territories, using fear as a weapon. If he starts targeting innocents, Matteo…” His voice drops, quiet and deadly. “We’ll burn his entire empire to the ground.”

The weight of his words sends a shiver down my spine. Civilians, innocents? I’ve known Romeo’s world is violent, but hearing it like this, so raw and calculated, shakes something loose inside me.

I step back, suddenly needing to put distance between myself and the conversation. I don’t know what I expected—some hint of humanity in him, some proof that he’s not the monster I’ve painted him to be? Instead, I find myself more confused than ever.

Stepping back in the quiet of the hall, I wander aimlessly, my mind a whirlwind of fear and doubt. I don’t know how long I walk before I find myself at Romeo’s study again. This time, the door is shut, the voices gone.

Impulsively, I reach for the handle. It turns easily in my hand, and I slip inside, closing the door softly behind me.

The room smells of leather and wood polish, the shelves lined with books that look as untouched as the art lining the walls. It’s an elegant, curated space, but it feels cold, impersonal—like its owner.

I move toward the desk, scanning the surface for anything that might give me an edge. Papers are scattered neatly, nothing incriminating at first glance. But when I pull open the bottom drawer, my hand brushes against something unexpected: a small, worn journal.

I hesitate, the weight of it in my hand feeling almost sacred, like I’m holding a piece of him he’s hidden from the world. The leather cover is cracked with age, the edges frayed.

Against my better judgment, I open it.

Inside, I find a journal filled with Romeo’s neat handwriting, in heavy black ink. It’s old, tucked away in the back of a cabinet; like something he’s trying to forget.

The first page is scrawled with messy handwriting, the lines uneven as if written in haste. The words are disjointed, fragmented thoughts that take me a moment to piece together.

Sometimes I think that I could hit her. God knows, Viviana would deserve it, but I won’t be like Dad. I refuse to turn into him.

The words strike me like the blow he mentioned in the sentence, and I sit down, my breath catching as I turn the page.

I remember the smell of his cigars. Expensive, always smoldering in the corner of his mouth. He’d grind them out on the furniture—or us, if we didn’t listen.

I shiver, the imagery so vivid it feels like I can see the scene playing out in front of me.

The journal entries shift, the writing becoming more structured, the handwriting neater as I turn the pages. It’s as though Romeo controls his penmanship with his emotions.

Viviana Rossi. That name should mean nothing to me, but it doesn’t. She’s fire and fury wrapped in something I can’t touch without burning. I shouldn’t want her, but I do.

I freeze, my fingers tightening on the page. My name stares back at me, stark and deliberate.

She doesn’t see it yet, but she’s mine. Always was. Always will be.

My chest tightens, my breath catching in my throat. I flip through the pages, finding more fragments, scattered thoughts about me.

Her laugh is softer than I expected. She doesn’t laugh often, but when she lets it slip, it stays with me for hours.

The way she glares—like she’s daring me to fight her. I shouldn’t want to crush that fire, but I do. Actually, I want to own it.

The entries leave me shaken, an unsteady mix of fear and something I can’t name pooling in my stomach.

Further along, the journal returns to his past.

I wasn’t strong enough to protect Carlo. Father made sure of that. “The Valenti line can’t afford weakness,” he had said. Then he sent Carlo to Salvatore to negotiate. It was a death sentence. He knew that. This is bringing back too many memories.

My throat tightens as I read.

I stood there, shaking, watching him leave. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d see him alive. I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. I’ll never forgive myself.

The entries blur together—pain, anger, and grief scrawled in black ink. The journal isn’t just a collection of memories; it’s a confessional, a window into a man who has built himself from ruins.

I pause at the last entry, more recent than the others.

Viviana tests me in ways no one ever has. She’s fire and defiance, a storm I can’t control. But she’s also something else. Something I don’t deserve.

The words hang in the air, heavy and raw.

I snap the journal shut, my hands trembling. The weight of what I’ve read presses down on me, leaving me breathless. I don’t know what to make of it, of him, of us.

Romeo Valenti is a monster, but he’s also something else: broken, haunted, and painfully human.

I don’t know what terrifies me more—his obsession with me or the way I’m beginning to understand it.