Page 62 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “You don’t have to say anything. Just listen. I’ll tell you why I’m here.”

The silence between us stretches thin, but she nods.

“When you left, I didn’t just lose you. I lost the part of myself that made any of this”—I gesture around the room—“bearable. You took Leo, and with him, every reason I had to believe I could be anything more than what I am.”

Her expression flickers, but she quickly masks it.

“I’ve done things in the last five years I’m not proud of, Valentina. But I never stopped looking. Not once.”

“Why now?” she whispers.

“Because I found you.”

I don’t tell her about the months of following her every move through the quiet Sicilian streets, or the nights I spent sitting outside this bakery, watching the lights go out, wondering if I had the right to walk back into her life.

Instead, I meet her gaze and say, “You’re not leaving me again.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cry. She just looks at me with that same fierce defiance I fell in love with.

And for the first time in years, I feel like I can breathe, like I’m home. I’ve left an empire behind, but it’s just bricks and walls without my wife and son. I don’t intend to return without them.

“You’ve done well for yourself.”

That’s not what I want to say. I want to ask her to come back, immediately. But I can’t rush this.

Her head lifts, her brows knitting in surprise. “Why are you here, Luca?”

The directness of her question doesn’t faze me. I lean back, letting my gaze roam over the cozy bakery, the rustic charm of the wooden shelves lined with pastries, the sunlight spilling through the window. It’s a far cry from the cold opulence of the estate.

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you and try the coffee the whole town is raving about?”

Despite herself, a small smile appears on her lips. “I think you’re here for more than coffee.”

I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table, my eyes locking with hers. “You’re right. I am. But it doesn’t change the fact that I needed to see you.”

“Mommy!”

Leo bounds into the room, his face alight with pride as he carries a plate with a small cake balanced on it. The frosting swirls are uneven, the decorations lopsided, but the boy’s grin is so wide it lights up the entire bakery.

“Look!” he exclaims, setting the plate down in front of me with a flourish. “It’s Mommy’s special recipe!”

I glance at Valentina, whose cheeks flush a shade deeper.

“Is it now?” I ask with a laugh in my voice, shifting my gaze back to Leo. The boy nods enthusiastically, his curls bouncing.

“Try it!”

I pick up the fork, cutting a small piece of the cake. The flavors hit me immediately—sweet, rich, with a subtle tang of lemon. It’s perfect.

“You’re right,” I say, smiling at Leo. “This is the best cake I’ve ever had.”

His grin widens, and he practically skips in place. “See, Mommy? I told you!”

Valentina softens at his excitement, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since I arrived.

“Leo,” she says gently, “why don’t you go check on Mrs. Rizzo in the kitchen? I’m sure she could use your help.”

The boy hesitates, glancing between the two of us.