Page 5

VALENTINA

I t 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.

When I step outside, the limousine is already there, beautiful and subtle in it's sharpness. The driver doesn’t get out, doesn’t greet me—just unlocks the door with a faint click .

I hesitate for the barest moment before sliding inside.

The leather seats are cool against my skin. The cabin smells faintly of cedar and something pungent, like fresh tobacco. I settle into the corner, clutching my bag in my lap like a lifeline.

The car glides forward, silent but powerful, carrying me closer to my fate.

The streets blur past the window, familiar landmarks fading into distant memories. Each passing second feels like another tether to my old life being severed, another step closer to the abyss.

I wonder if Luca is already at the estate, waiting with that infuriating calm of his. He probably is. It’s a game to him, isn’t it? A test to see how far he can push me before I break.

The thought stirs a flicker of defiance in my chest, but it’s snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

When the estate comes into view, I feel my breath catch.

Even from a distance, it’s overwhelming.

The mansion sprawls across the hilltop like a predator surveying his domain.

The massive iron gates creak open as we approach, flanked by towering stone columns that seem to watch my every move.

Beyond them, the driveway curves up through a pristine landscape of manicured hedges and impossibly green lawns.

The house itself is enormous, reflecting wealth and power in a way I've never known. Every inch of it screams dominance, from the gleaming marble facade to the towering windows that reflect the sparse morning light.

As the car pulls up to the main entrance, I feel the weight of the mansion pressing down on me, suffocating in its grandeur.

I step out and shiver, for the wind is colder here, almost as if it carries teeth. The driver doesn’t say a word, just gestures toward the massive oak doors.

My feet move almost of their own accord, carrying me up the steps. Each one feels heavier than the last, like I’m ascending the gallows instead of walking toward my future.

When I reach the top, I glance back, half expecting to see the limousine driving away. It doesn’t. It sits there, its black sheen like a reminder that escape isn’t just improbable, it’s impossible.

I turn back to the doors. I haven’t even entered the house yet, but I can feel it overwhelming me, even from here.

You’re doing this for her . I grip that thought tightly. Another shiver runs up my spine as I picture Luca Salvatore waiting for me. Those eyes, those hands… What will he do to me tonight?

The estate swallows me whole the moment I step inside.

Every inch of it radiates cold, clinical power, from the marble floors that gleam like ice to the soaring ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers. It’s breathtaking, and I'm almost sure it'd take me months to merely accustom myself to living in a place like this.

And then, I see Luca.

He emerges from a room to the right, his presence filling the vast space like it was built just for him. Broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his dark suit, and his green eyes are as sharp and cutting as they were the first time they locked onto mine.

He stops just a few paces away, his gaze sweeping over me in one slow, scorching pass.

It’s not the kind of look that admires or compliments.

Rather, it looks like a measured assessment, like I’m a puzzle he’s already halfway through solving.

Whatever he sees pleases him, from the smile that appears on his lips.

It ignites a heat in my chest that travels all the way up my neck.

“Valentina,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, with the faintest undercurrent of amusement.

The sound of my name from his lips is electrifying. I lift my chin even though my insides feel like jelly, refusing to shrink under his scrutiny. “Luca.”

His lips twitch, he looks like he's enjoying himself. The idea makes me faintly annoyed, which is good. Annoyance over fear, always. “You’ve made quite an entrance.”

I glance around, noticing how several figures lingering in the shadows are subtly watching us.

I wonder if that’s what he meant, but the gleam in his eyes tells me otherwise.

He’s not talking about the room. He’s talking about me—how I stand, how I look, how I’m trying so hard not to show the fear coiling in my chest.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I reply, my voice steady despite the tightness in my throat.

Luca steps closer, the sound of his polished shoes echoing faintly in the silence. I force myself to stand still as he closes the gap between us, his height and presence making me feel smaller with every step he takes.

When he stops, he’s close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, close enough to catch the faint scent of cedar and smoke clinging to him.

“There’s always a choice,” he says, his tone low and almost teasing. “You made yours.”

The words are simple, but the implication behind them is anything but. I feel my chest tighten.

His gaze drops to my lips, lingering for just a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Shall we?”

Before I can answer, another figure steps forward, and I instantly recognize him from the evening Luca paid me a visit.

I researched the whole family shortly after.

This is Dante Salvatore, Luca’s youngest brother.

Where Luca is all imposing control, Dante carries himself with a kind of disarming charm, his blue eyes gleaming as he approaches.

“Valentina,” he says smoothly, holding out a hand. “The beautiful bride-to-be. Welcome to the family.”

His words are laced with dry amusement, but the handshake he offers is firm. I take it, careful not to let my hesitation show.

“Thank you,” I say.

Dante’s smile deepens, and he leans in slightly, dropping his voice just enough for only me to hear. “Relax. We’re not all as terrifying as Luca.”

I force a tight smile, unsure if he’s joking or warning me.

Luca doesn’t move, his gaze never straying from me as Dante speaks. His silence is louder than words.

The flicker of defiance in my chest from earlier flares up again, though I know better than to let it show.

If this is his test, I’ll be damned if I fail.

“You’ll get used to Dante,” the second brother, Marco, says as he steps smoothly into the tension. He was in my apartment that night. “He barks more than he bites.”

Dante raises a brow, but Marco waves him off. “Go bother someone else, Dante. You’re scaring the poor girl.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, not wanting to seem weak.

Marco studies me for a moment, then nods, his smile softening just enough to put me slightly at ease. “Good. You’ll need that spine.”

The atmosphere shifts as another figure enters the room. The men straighten almost imperceptibly, their casual demeanor replaced by something more formal.

I turn to see a woman sweeping toward us, her presence commanding even in silence. She’s dressed in black lace, her silver-streaked hair pulled into an elegant chignon. Her posture is regal, her gaze bright.

“This,” Marco announces, still in the suppressed voice, “Is the matriarch of our family. Donna Maria.”

Luca’s mother.

“Valentina Russo,” she says, her voice low and smooth, each word deliberate. “At last, we meet.”

“Donna Maria,” I reply, dipping my head slightly in acknowledgment. It feels wrong to call her anything less formal.

She stops in front of me, her dark eyes scanning me with a mix of curiosity and scrutiny. “You’re smaller than I expected,” she says, her tone devoid of judgment but not exactly kind.

I resist the urge to shrink under her gaze. “I’ve been told I’m full of surprises.”

Her lips twitch into the faintest semblance of a smile. “Good. You’ll need to be.”

The implication of her words lingers, and I realize she isn’t just talking about surviving this day, she’s talking about surviving this family .

“Loyalty, strength, and an unwavering commitment to the family,” she continues, her voice firm. “Those are the pillars of being a Salvatore wife. Do you understand what’s expected of you?”

I nod, though my throat tightens. “Yes.”

“Do you?” she presses, stepping closer. Her gaze pierces through me, as though she can see every crack in my armor. “This is not a place for weakness, Valentina. Nor for hesitation. You marry my son, you marry this family. And we demand nothing less than complete devotion.”

The room feels colder, the space thinner. I nod again, my voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

She studies me for another long moment, then inclines her head. “Good.”

The exchange leaves me shaken, but I force myself to stand tall as Donna Maria turns to Luca. Even he seems to defer to her, the tension in his shoulders visible in their squareness.