Page 15

VALENTINA

T he phone sits in my lap, its smooth screen as dark and still as the room around me. My fingers curl around it, gripping tighter than necessary, as though holding onto it will stop my thoughts from spiraling. It doesn’t.

I told Luca about the call. I thought he’d be mad, perhaps he’d even try to hurt me.

Instead, he showed only… is it love? I want to call it love, the fiereceness with which he held me, the grim set of his jaw, the way his eyes burned.

But in this world, everything is slippery, and I’m not sure where I stand.

Luca’s watching, waiting, probably already ten steps ahead.

If the person on the other end thought they could use me to hurt him, they didn’t understand who they were dealing with.

But then again, do I?

I shift on the edge of the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. The silk of my nightgown brushes my skin, cool and weightless, a contrast to the heavy knot tightening in my chest. Killing Luca.

The idea had sounded ludicrous the moment I’d heard it. Now it feels obscene. He’s not the kind of man you kill; he’s the kind of man who survives everything, the kind who makes sure you don’t. And yet, the thought lingers. Not the act itself, but what it represents. Freedom.

Do I want it? A life without this man and all the dangers that come with him?

I could leave this life, escape the iron grip of the Salvatore family and the constant, suffocating watchfulness of Donna Maria. I could go somewhere no one would ever find me. But then, Luca’s voice comes to me, deep and inescapable.

You’re mine, Valentina. And I don’t share.

A shiver runs through me, part fear, part something far more dangerous.

I told him about the call because I’m not stupid. My phone is tapped, my every move likely being scrutinized. Even without his confirmation, I know Luca’s men are combing through every detail of my life, looking for threats, for signs of betrayal.

But the truth—the messy, tangled truth I can’t seem to escape—is that I don’t want to betray him.

I press my forehead to my knees, exhaling shakily. Somewhere along the line, Luca has gone from being my captor to something else entirely. He’s chaos and power, danger and protection, all wrapped in a man who seems to see every part of me I’d rather keep hidden.

I hate him for it. And I’m drawn to him because of it.

That’s why killing him isn’t an option. Not just because it’s impossible or suicidal, but because I couldn’t do it even if I tried.

Instead, I think of Sofia. The image of her comes to me easily, her bright smile, her quick wit, the way she always seemed to know exactly what to say to pull me back from the edge. She’d hate this place, this world, this man. She’d call me an idiot for even thinking I could survive here.

And yet, she’d help me.

Wouldn’t she?

The thought gives me pause, my mind circling around the risks.

If Sofia gets compromised trying to help me, it could destroy us both.

Donna Maria’s sharp gaze flashes in my mind, her cold voice warning me with every carefully chosen word.

I glance toward the window, the faint glow of moonlight spilling across the room.

It casts everything in shades of silver and shadow, beautiful and deceptive.

Sofia is my only option. If I can convince Luca—or Donna Maria—that her visit is harmless, just two friends reconnecting, I can get her into the estate.

Once she’s here, we can figure out the rest. She can say the things I need to here, give me a reality check, help me understand whether this is the kind of family to grow old in. These are answers I can’t find myself.

But the plan feels fragile, incomplete, a threadbare lifeline I’m clinging to with both hands, because I’m not sure what I want to achieve.

I want freedom, a life on my own terms, but I also want Luca.

Even now, I feel the ghost of Luca’s touch on my skin, the way his hand lingered on mine when I told him about the call.

His face, with those ridiculously long lashes and beautifully dark, forest-soaked eyes flashes in my mind.

The man who looked at me like I was his entire world, even as the blood of his enemies dried on his hands.

The Luca who makes me feel things I don’t want to feel. I bury my face in my hands, the conflict twisting tighter and tighter inside me. The bed feels too large, too cold, as I lie back and stare at the ceiling. The plan is the only thing keeping me grounded, even as doubt gnaws at the edges of it.

By the time I drift into a fitful sleep, Sofia’s name is a mantra in my mind. She has to help me. She’s the only one who can.

The next morning, I wake up with an appetite, which is a merciful distraction.

A shower and a quick change of clothes later, I head downstairs.

The breakfast room gleams in the morning light, every inch of it polished to icy perfection.

Sunlight filters through sheer curtains, dappling the long mahogany table with soft gold.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee curls through the air, blending with the scent of warm bread, honey, and the faint tang of citrus from a bowl of blood oranges set in the center of the table.

It would be an elegant, almost idyllic scene—if it weren’t for the oppressive tension that thickens with every second.

Luca and Donna Maria are already at the table.

I swallow my sigh and drop down between both of them, my every move feeling like a ripple in still water that threatens to break the delicate calm.

Luca is focused on his plate, his knife slicing through a golden omelet with precise, measured movements.

Donna Maria, perched at the head of the table like a queen, sips her coffee in silence.

I pick up a spoon, my fingers brushing the cool silver, and take a bite of yogurt drizzled with honey. It’s creamy and rich, but it sits heavy on my tongue. I don’t taste it. My mind is elsewhere, already rehearsing the words I need to say.

The soft clink of silverware fills the room, punctuated by the occasional scrape of porcelain. No one speaks.

Finally, I muster the courage to break the silence. “I was wondering if I could invite Sofia over.”

The words seem to hang between us, the peaceful facade of the room shattering in an instant.

Donna Maria lowers her cup with a tiny clink that’s far more intimidating than any sudden gesture.

Her dark eyes snap to mine, piercing in their thoroughness.

She’s searching for tells. “Sofia,” she repeats, her voice smooth but icy, “your friend from before.”

“Yes,” I say, forcing my tone to remain calm. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. I thought it might be nice to catch up.”

Her expression hardens, a subtle shift that sends a chill down my spine. “And why would you need to ‘catch up’ now?”

I place my spoon carefully on the edge of my plate, my hands steady even as my heart pounds. “Because she’s important to me. I think her visit would help...adjust to everything.”

Her silence is deafening.

Luca looks up from his plate, his green eyes flicking between us. There’s a trace of curiosity there, but he doesn’t intervene. Not yet.

Donna Maria sets her cup down, the delicate clink of porcelain loud in the quiet room. “Valentina, this house is not a place for idle visitors. Every guest brings risk, distraction.” She leans back slightly, her gaze narrowing. “I’m sure you understand.”

It takes everything I have not to flinch. Her words are calculated, each one a subtle reminder of my precarious place in this world. “She’s not a risk,” I say, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. “She’s my friend. And I want her here.”

The tension snaps taut, a thread pulled to its breaking point. Donna Maria tilts her head, her sharp gaze cutting through me. “Want,” she echoes, the word dripping with disdain. “You’ve been given much, Valentina. Be careful how often you reach for more.”

Anger flares in my chest, hot and unwelcome. I force myself to meet her gaze, unwilling to back down. “I’m not asking for much. I’m just asking for my friend.”

The air feels like it’s freezing, each second dragging out into eternity. Then, slowly, Donna Maria turns her gaze to Luca, a silent appeal for support.

Luca exhales deeply, his irritation palpable.

He sets his fork down and looks at me, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, I wonder if he’ll take her side, if he’ll shut me down with the same calm finality he’s used to control everything else in my life.

But then he speaks. “Valentina should be allowed to have her friends over,” he says simply, as if that’s all that needs to be said.

If anything, this lowers my resolve all the more.

He’s trusting me. But maybe he’s also waiting to see what I do.

My lower lip trembles slightly. Donna Maria stiffens, her displeasure evident in the thin line of her lips.

But she doesn’t argue. She inclines her head slightly, a begrudging acknowledgment of Luca’s authority.

“As you wish,” she says, her voice clipped.

The moment passes, but the tension lingers. I force myself to take another bite of yogurt, the honey suddenly too sweet. Luca resumes eating as if nothing has happened, but there’s a faint, almost imperceptible curve to his lips.

I can’t tell if it’s approval or amusement. Donna Maria excuses herself not long after, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she leaves the room. The sound echoes, and with it, some of the tension dissipates.

Luca excuses himself to make a quick phone call. When he comes back, he simply looks at me, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turns back to his plate. “She’ll be here soon,” he says, almost casually.

“Thank you,” I manage, not trusting myself to say anything else.