Page 27

VALENTINA

T he silence between Luca and me stretches over days, taut as a bowstring ready to snap. It’s not the first time we’ve fought, but this time, it’s different. It feels like standing on the edge of something steep and unfathomable.

The house buzzes with activity tonight, the kind of hushed frenzy that comes with preparing for one of the Salvatores’ infamous galas.

Staff scurry through the hallways, balancing trays of polished crystal and silver, adjusting towering floral arrangements that perfume the air with their extravagance.

I’m in my room, sitting by the window, staring out at the estate's sprawling grounds. The sky is bruised with twilight, streaked with the deep indigos and purples of evening. From here, the world looks serene, like nothing inside these walls could ever touch it. But my mind refuses to settle.

I trace the edge of my gown absently. It’s a masterpiece of crimson silk, the fabric whispering against my skin like a secret.

Donna Maria had insisted on it, because tonight, I am Luca’s wife, and the world will see it, whether I want them to or not.

The thought of Luca sends a pang through my chest, sharp and unwelcome.

He’s home tonight, somewhere in this labyrinth of a house, likely overseeing the final details for the evening.

He’s been distant, cold even, but I know him well enough to recognize the storm beneath the surface.

And me? I’m heartbroken.

Not just because he threatened Sofia, though that is a betrayal I can’t forgive. It’s the realization that no matter how angry I am, no matter how impossible this life feels, I can’t seem to stop loving him. It’s a cruel, unrelenting truth that digs into me, making everything so much harder.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. One of the maids steps in, her expression neutral but her tone polite. “Signora, the gala will begin shortly. Donna Maria asked me to ensure you are ready.”

I nod, forcing a smile, and she disappears as quietly as she came. I rise, smoothing my gown, and catch my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looks poised, elegant, like she belongs in this world of power and intrigue. But my eyes—my eyes betray the turmoil underneath.

By the time I descend the grand staircase, the house is alive with the hum of voices and laughter.

The sound swells as I approach the main hall, where guests are already mingling beneath the glittering chandeliers.

The smell of expensive perfume and cigar smoke clings to the air, mingling with the faint aroma of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

And then I see Luca near the bar, his back to me at first, dressed in a tailored suit that fits him like a second skin. He’s magnetic, even from across the room. When he turns, his eyes find me immediately, locking onto mine with a heat that makes my pulse stutter.

I straighten, refusing to let him see how much his presence affects me. I’m supposed to stand by his side tonight, play the role of his adoring wife. But how can I, when I’m barely holding myself together?

He approaches, and for a moment, the noise and movement around us seem to blur into nothing. “You’re late,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

“I wasn’t aware there was a timetable,” I reply, keeping my tone even.

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Stay close tonight,” he says simply, then offers me his arm.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before taking it, allowing him to guide me into the room.

The evening is a careful dance of veiled tension.

Luca introduces me to guests with practiced charm, his hand never straying far from mine.

To everyone else, we must look like the perfect couple, but every touch feels like a silent reminder: you are mine.

The enormity of it all—the guests, the grandeur, the suffocating expectations—presses down on me until it’s hard to breathe.

My mind drifts, unbidden, to our child. I glance at Luca, his profile sharp against the light, and wonder: could he ever leave this world behind for us? Would he even want to?

The answer feels as unreachable as the stars outside. A toast is called, drawing the room’s attention, and Luca steps forward, his presence commanding. I take the moment to slip away, retreating to a quieter corner of the room.

My heart pounds as I sip from a glass of champagne, letting the cool liquid settle the fire in my throat.

The thought of running flickers through my mind again, but it feels like a betrayal now, not just to Luca, but to myself.

I don’t want to run. But staying means raising my child in a world where death lurks in every shadow, where love is a dangerous weakness.

As I stand there, lost in thought, Luca finds me again. He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies me with an intensity that makes my skin flush. “You look beautiful,” he says finally, his voice deceptively soft.

I want to hate him for making me feel like this, but I can’t. Instead, I nod, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”

And as the evening wears on, and the gala finally heads, giving me the opportunity to run back to my room as quickly as I can, I realize the truth: loving Luca might destroy me, but I don’t think I can stop.

The silence in the bedroom is unbearable.

Luca stands by the door, his presence heavy, filling the room as much as my resentment.

He looks at me, waiting for something, maybe a fight, maybe forgiveness. I give him nothing.

I climb into bed without a word, pulling the covers up to my shoulders and turning my back to him. He exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the quiet like a blade.

“Fine,” he mutters. The door opens and closes behind him, his departure leaving an emptiness that feels both a relief and a wound. I stare into the dark, my chest tightening as I wonder how we’ve come to this.

The next morning, the estate feels oddly hollow.

Luca is nowhere to be found. No note, no message.

Just his absence, as if he’s evaporated into thin air.

I don’t ask anyone where he’s gone, unwilling to betray even the smallest hint of concern.

Instead, I wander aimlessly through the mansion, my steps echoing off marble floors as I drift from one wing to the next.

The staff bustle around me, preparing meals, cleaning rooms, and arranging fresh flowers in enormous vases. I move past them like a ghost, my thoughts tangled and heavy.

By mid-morning, I find myself in one of the sprawling living rooms. The space is lavish, with gilded mirrors and plush furniture, but the grandeur barely registers. It feels cold, too perfect to be lived in.

I’m about to turn back when a soft, unfamiliar voice stops me.

“Excuse me, are you Mrs. Salvatore?”

I freeze, then turn slowly. A young woman stands by the window, framed by the sunlight streaming in.

She’s beautiful in an effortless, classic way, with dark, glossy hair that falls in waves over her shoulders and eyes so green they seem almost otherworldly.

Her fitted dress hugs her figure, elegant and understated, but there’s a sharpness in her posture that suggests she’s no stranger to power.

“Yes,” I say cautiously. “Who are you?”

She steps forward, extending a hand with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Aria Lombardi.”

The name rings faintly familiar, though I can’t place it.

“I was hoping to speak with Enzo,” she continues, her tone polite but cool. “Is he available?”

I shake her hand, though my grip is hesitant. “I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t exactly check in with me.”

Her smile widens. She honestly doesn’t look like she belongs to this world. “I understand. Do you mind if I wait here?”

I nod slowly, stepping aside to let her take a seat on one of the armchairs.

Something about Aria makes me want to leave, and quickly. “I’ll go look for him. My husband should know where he is,” I say briefly, before scurrying toward the study. Luca should be in there, and maybe his beloved hitman will be with him.

As I near the heavy oak door, I notice it’s slightly ajar.

I hear Enzo’s voice on the other side, calm and measured, though tinged with something I can’t quite name.

“...yes, I understand. But her father...it’s not that simple, Luca.

He died protecting this family. How long do you think news like that stays hidden? ”

I freeze, pressing myself against the wall outside the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

“I don’t think she suspects,” Enzo continues, his voice low but clear. “But we’ll have to tread carefully. If she finds out...yes. Fine, we’ll make sure Valentina doesn’t know of this.”

I swallow hard, anger and confusion warring within me. My chest tightens as I hear Enzo’s chair creak, and I quickly retreat down the hall before he can spot me.

That’s it. That’s where I draw the fucking line.

I can’t stay here, not when I’m drowning in lies and half-truths.

The night deepens, the estate quiet except for the distant hum of security patrols. I sit by the window, staring into the dark, trying to piece together what little I overheard. Luca knocks on the door, and for a moment, I consider letting him in.

“Valentina,” he calls, his voice steady. “Open the door.”

I stand, taking a step toward the door, but the memory of Enzo’s words stops me. “Go away, Luca,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay firm.

Silence follows, thick and heavy. Then, a quiet sigh. “You’re fighting a losing battle,” he says in a way that makes my skin prickle. His footsteps fade down the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Enough is enough.

A few hours later, I’m on to something. It’s a little dangerous, but at least I’m still early on in my pregnancy. It’d be downright impossible a few months from now.

Climbing down the pipe isn’t as hard as I expected.

My hands scrape against the cold metal, my muscles burning as I lower myself carefully.

It’s almost a relief to feel the night air against my skin when I reach the servants’ quarters.

I creep through the narrow hallways, my heart pounding with every step.

The back entrance is just ahead. I’m so close I can taste it—until I hear the soft click of heels behind me. “Well, well,” a voice drawls, sharp and amused.

I whirl around to see Aria Lombardi standing just a few feet away, her arms crossed and a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Escaping, are we?” she asks, cocking her head. “Interesting choice.”