Page 9 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir

She nods quickly and scurries out, the last of the team following close behind.

When the door finally clicks shut, I collapse onto the couch, my legs weak, my hands shaking.

I know Luca won’t let this slide.

The day drags on, every hour thick with dread. I try to distract myself, cleaning the apartment, flipping through an old art book, but nothing sticks.

When my phone finally rings, I don’t need to check the caller ID to know who it is.

I answer with a tentative, “Hello?”

“Valentina.”

His voice is cold, dripping with poorly restrained anger.

“What,” he growls, “did you think you were doing?”

I swallow hard, gripping the phone tightly to keep my voice steady. “I told your team to leave.”

“Yes,” he says, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m well aware. Do you have any idea how much work I put into arranging this? How much I pay them to follow my orders?”

My heart is pounding, but I refuse to let him hear the fear in my voice. “I’m not a puppet, Luca. If I’m going to marry you, I’ll do it on my terms. Not yours.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

I can picture him now, his jaw tight, his knuckles white as he grips his phone. He’s not used to being challenged, let alone by someone like me.

“You think this is a game?” His voice is quieter now, more dangerous. “You think you get to dictate how this goes?”

I take a shaky breath, my pulse hammering in my ears. “I don’t have a choice in marrying you, but I do have a choice in how it happens. And if you want me to go through with this, you’ll let me plan it my way.”

For a brief, terrifying moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far, if I’ve just signed my own death warrant. Then, his voice comes through the line. “You want control over the wedding? Fine.”

Relief floods me, but it’s short-lived.

“Remember this, Valentina,” he continues menacingly. “You’ll only have control until I decide to take it back.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone in my hand, my fingers shaking.

4

VALENTINA

It has been a week since a visit from the Mafia King of Nuova Speranza changed my life.

The morning is golden and warm. Potted plants on the sill glisten with the remnants of dew, catching the light like tiny emeralds. Shadows stretch delicately across the wall, swaying gently as a light breeze flutters the curtains. The earthy scent of soil mixes with the crisp, sunlit air.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the rumpled sheets like they hold some kind of answer. They don’t, of course. My apartment is as empty of solutions as my head.

Today, I become Mrs. Luca Salvatore.

The thought sends a tremor through me, and I press my hands into my thighs to steady myself. There’s no way out of this. I’ve played the scenario over and over in my mind, searching for a loophole, a miracle. None exist.

I reach for the cup of water I left on my nightstand, the glass shaking slightly in my hand. The sip does nothing to quell the dryness in my throat, nor the heaviness pressing against my chest.

This is the only way to keep my family safe.

I tell myself that again and again, like reciting a familiar poem or a prayer. Protecting my mother is worth the sacrifice. It has to be.