Page 4 of Mafia Don’s Secret Heir (Underworld Heirs #1)

VALENTINA

L uca Salvatore’s voice is the first thing I remember when I wake up.

“You have until tomorrow evening to make up your mind, Valentina.”

The memory of his words strikes like a match, setting fire to the fragile calm of morning.

I push the blanket off and sit up, my body taut, as though bracing for another blow.

My apartment is eerily quiet save for the soft, distant whirring of the refirgerator.

For a moment, I wonder if last night was just a nightmare.

But the smell of smoke still lingers around me—the ghost of his cigar—and I know it wasn’t.

I stand, pacing the length of the room, my fingers dragging through my hair. Everything about yesterday replays in my mind with cruel clarity. The funeral. The suits. Luca, sprawled on my couch as though he owned the place, and now, my life.

Marry me.

The words sit in my chest like lead.

A sharp knock on my kitchen table breaks the spiral. My hand, clenched into a fist, has slammed against the wood without me realizing it. I stare at the white marks on my knuckles, then inhale deeply.

I can’t stay here. Not in this apartment that feels smaller, darker, more suffocating than ever. Grabbing my coat from the hook by the door, I leave.

The walk to my mother’s apartment feels both too short and painfully long. By the time I reach her door, my chest is tight with a mix of dread and desperation.

When I step inside, I see her sitting at the small kitchen table, her tea cup cradled in both hands. She looks fragile, her skin pale, her frame slighter than I remember.

Her gaze snaps to mine as I close the door behind me, and I see the worry flicker across her face. “Valentina?”

“Do you ever think Dad could’ve made worse decisions?” The question bursts out before I can stop it, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

She blinks, setting the cup down. “What are you talking about?”

I sink into the chair across from her, pressing my palms against my thighs to stop them from shaking. “I met Luca Salvatore last night.”

Her breath hitches, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh, God.”

“He wants me to marry him,” I say bluntly, watching the horror bloom in her eyes. “To erase Dad’s debt.”

Her silence hurts more than the wound from the morning.

For the next few minutes, I tell her everything, sparing no details. Luca’s ultimatum. The number my father owed. The icy, terrifying finality in his voice. When I’m done, my mother is trembling, her tear-filled eyes locked on me as though she’s trying to find the right words.

Finally, she speaks. “You have to marry him.”

A pebble of goosebumps erupt across my arm as I stare at her in disbelief. “What?”

Her fingers curl around her cup, her knuckles white. “Valentina, men like him don’t make idle threats. If you say no, he’ll…” Her voice falters. “He’ll hurt us. All of us.”

I push back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. “So I’m just supposed to give up my life? Tie myself to a man like that?”

“Would you rather he comes after me? Or your friends?” Her voice cracks, but she holds my gaze. “You saw what he’s capable of. What choice do you have?”

I open my mouth, then close it again. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the silence of the room.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” I whisper, my throat tight.

My mother stands, her frail figure shaking as she moves toward me. She places her hands on my shoulders, her touch featherlight. “I know exactly what I’m asking you to do,” she says quietly. “And I hate it. But Valentina, this family has already lost too much. I can’t lose you, too.”

Her words slice through me. I can’t breathe, can’t think.

My gaze drops to the worn floor, the reality of my situation closing in like a vise.

I step away from her, putting distance between us, my hands curling into fists.

“He’s not some savior, Mama. He’s a man who thinks he owns everything he touches. And I refuse to be owned.”

Her voice is barely a whisper. “If it keeps us alive, does it matter?”

I stare at her, my chest heaving, but I have no answer.

She brushes a tear from her cheek, her frail body seeming to shrink further. “Valentina, I’m begging you. Don’t fight him. Please. For me.”

The desperation in her voice is a knife to my chest. I can’t look at her anymore. Turning on my heel, I walk toward the door, gripping the handle tightly.

“I’ll think about it,” I manage, before hurtling out.

I walk aimlessly for a good minute, and then, I dial Sofia. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop the phone, but I manage to hit the call button. The phone rings once, twice, three times before she picks up.

“Valentina?” Sofia’s voice is warm and familiar, and for a fleeting second, I feel a spark of relief.

“Sofia,” I say, my voice cracking. “I need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?” Her tone sharpens immediately.

“Everything.” The word falls out of me, heavy and raw. I pull my coat tighter around myself as I walk down the quiet street, the cold morning air biting at my skin. “It’s—it’s Luca Salvatore.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line. “Wait,” she says, her voice low, disbelieving. “Luca Salvatore? The Luca Salvatore? What do you mean, Val? What’s going on?”

I stop at the corner, my breath clouding in the chilly air. “He came to my apartment last night,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “He wants me to marry him to erase my father’s debts. Half a million dollars, Sofia. I don’t know what to do.”

“Marry him?” Her voice rises, sharp and incredulous. “Valentina, are you insane? You can’t marry that man. He’s a monster.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, frustration boiling over. “But what choice do I have? He said if I refuse, he’ll come after my family. My mother.”

Sofia exhales shakily, and I can practically hear her pacing on the other end of the line. “Val, listen to me. You can’t do this. Men like him—they don’t give, they take. They destroy. If you marry him, you’ll never have a life of your own. You’ll be trapped.”

“I’m already trapped,” I say, my voice heavy with resignation.

She’s silent for a moment, and I use the time to keep walking, trying to block out everything happening in my life. The streets are starting to stir with life—shopkeepers unlocking doors, delivery trucks rumbling past—but the world feels far away, detached from the storm inside me.

“Val,” Sofia says finally, her voice softer now. “There has to be another way. We can figure this out. We’ll get the money somehow?—”

“No, we won’t,” I interrupt, stopping in my tracks. “Sofia, you don’t understand. He’s not asking. He’s telling me. And if I say no, he’ll destroy what little I have left.”

The line goes quiet again, and I can feel her struggling with what to say.

“I don’t want this,” I say, my voice breaking. “But I don’t have the luxury of saying no.”

“God, Val.” Her voice trembles, and I know she’s crying now. “This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.”

“I know,” I whisper.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Sofia sniffles and clears her throat. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you. Always.”

“Thank you.” The words are small, inadequate, but they’re all I can manage.

We hang up, and I stand there for a moment, staring at my phone. I want to throw it, to smash it against the pavement and pretend that’ll fix anything. Instead, I shove it into my pocket and head home.

Hours pass in a blur. I try to distract myself, cleaning the apartment, rearranging the few paintings I have on the walls, but nothing works. My mind is a hurricane of fear and anger and helplessness.

When my phone rings, my heart stops. The number is unknown, but I already know who it is. My fingers hover over the screen for a moment before I swipe to answer.

“Valentina.”

Luca’s voice is a velvet baritone, smooth and commanding. Even through the phone, it sends a shiver down my spine.

“Yes,” I manage, my throat dry.

“Have you made your decision?”

My grip tightens on the phone, my knuckles white. “I’ll marry you.”

There’s a pause, then the faint sound of him chuckling. “Good girl.”

My stomach churns at the words, and before I can stop myself, I snap, “Not because I want to. Because you’re forcing me.”

His laughter deepens, a rich, almost amused sound. “You might be surprised by what the future holds, sweet girl. Perhaps it won’t be as terrible as you think.”

“I doubt that,” I say, my voice cold.

He doesn’t respond to the jab, only says, “I’ll take care of the arrangements. You’ll hear from me soon.”

“Wha—”

The line goes dead before I can say another word.

Every second after the phone call drifts by in a haze, each moment feeling like sand slipping through my fingers.

I vaguely recall going home, forcing myself to eat something—gas station takeout, because the grease feels indulgent, almost rebellious.

I savor each salty, crispy bite like it’s some grand luxury, as though freedom itself is tucked into that crinkly paper bag.

After that, I somehow settle on a movie.

It’s a silly flick I’ve seen a hundred times but feels like a comfort blanket right now.

I curl up on the couch in my favorite oversized sweater, my legs tucked beneath me, a glass of cheap wine balanced precariously on the armrest. I laugh too loud at moments I’ve seen before, almost trying to forget the weight of what’s coming.

The absurdity of it all—the movie, the wine, the impromptu gas station feast—makes me want to cling to every second. It’s all mine, every small, mundane detail of this quiet night. Mine, until it isn’t anymore.

His last words echo in my mind, impossibly cryptic, like a lock I don’t have the key for. And though I try to lose myself in the warmth of familiarity, the knowledge of what’s ahead lingers, a shadow curling in the corners of my thoughts until I get to bed, and fall asleep.

I realize what he’s saying the next morning, just past ten, when a loud, harsh knock wakes me.

I jolt upright, my pulse racing, the hazy remnants of sleep clinging to me.

For a second, I forget where I am, my heart pounding like a caged animal.

Then the knock comes again, brusque and relentless, dragging me fully into reality.

I stumble out of bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, and yank the door open.

What greets me is nothing short of an ambush.

A small army of impeccably dressed men and women stands in the hallway, each holding clipboards, fabric swatches, and garment bags. The woman at the front—a cat-eyed brunette in a tailored suit—steps forward with a blindingly professional smile.

“Miss Russo,” she begins crisply, her tone the kind that brooks no argument. “We’re here to finalize the arrangements for your wedding.”

For a second, I just stare at her, uncomprehending. “You’re here to what?”

“The wedding,” she repeats, as if I’m the crazy one. She motions to her team, who start filing in without waiting for permission. “Mr. Salvatore has given us explicit instructions to ensure everything is perfect. From the venue to your gown, we’ll take care of it all.”

They swarm my tiny apartment like locusts.

One man sets up a rack of designer dresses by the window; another flips open a portfolio of floral arrangements on my kitchen counter.

The brunette is already listing cake options while someone else measures my living room as if considering the logistics of hosting a royal reception here.

My head spins. Their chatter is a relentless buzz in my ears.

“Stop,” I shout, my voice barely cutting through the chaos. “Stop!”

The room falls silent.

I take a deep breath, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “You need to leave. All of you.”

The brunette’s smile falters, her pen hovering mid-air. “Miss Russo, we have a very tight schedule?—”

“I don’t care about your schedule,” I snap. “If I’m being forced to marry Luca Salvatore, I’ll at least have a say in how it happens.”

Her brows arch, and I can practically see her mentally drafting her resignation letter. “Mr. Salvatore has given us very specific?—”

“I said, get out .”

The words echo in the room, and for a moment, no one moves. Then, one by one, they begin to gather their things, their movements stiff with disbelief. The brunette hesitates at the door, clearly unsure whether to call Luca herself or just quit on the spot.

“You can explain it to him,” I say, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. “Or I will.”

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.