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CHAPTER SEVEN

Valentina

Through the kitchen window, I watch as Uncle Luigi, an unmoving mountain of old resentment and bitterness, faces off with Enzo at the front gate. I force myself to tear my eyes away from the scene—it’s probably better that I don’t watch.

I wonder why he’s here. To make excuses for leaving without even saying goodbye back then?

Or is he just desperate to see me again, as I am to see him?

I force that particularly annoying thought into the darkest recesses of my brain and distract myself with the budgets for the new building complex. The numbers dance before my eyes, transforming into a twisted version of Enzo’s face, mocking me.

Fuck, I miss him so much.

“Ugh, this is pointless,” I groan, slamming the laptop shut. I’m just about to check on Matilda and her tutor when Luigi storms into the kitchen.

Snowflakes tumble to the floor as he kicks the kitchen door closed. The fact that he resembles an angry snowman makes me giggle internally, but I school my face into subdued professionalism.

“What was that about?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can manage. I’m dying to know why Enzo showed up here and how that conversation went, but I’ll never let Luigi know that.

He glares at me as if he’s about to launch into a lecture, but the fight drains out of him when Matilda runs into the room.

“Mama, I finished my lessons!” she yelps, racing around the island to throw her arms around me. “Can I play in the snow? Please?”

“Yes, darling, just take Uncle Alfonso with you,” I say, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “And dress warmly!”

She’s off like a shotgun, racing through the big, old mansion to find her favorite uncle. I smile, despite everything, wondering how my little California beach baby developed this obsession with snow.

Probably came from her father, I realize, and the thought makes me sad.

I always thought she’d never know her father—or what an amazing man he was, or is, or could have been. But now? My brain glitches at the thought of Enzo finding out about her. How would he react?

“Valentina?” Uncle Luigi clears his throat, bringing me back to the present. “We need to talk about Enzo.”

“I didn’t invite him here,” I say, settling into the chair opposite of him, ready to fight. “I have no idea how he found us … Well, I mean, it’s probably not difficult for him, but I didn’t?—”

“I know,” he cuts me off, placing his hands around mine. “You know I would never go against your father’s wishes, but I never understood his treatment of Enzo in the end.”

“I mean, he’s overprotective, overbearing, and wants to extinguish any ounce of joy I might ever experience,” I mumble, knowing I’m acting like a petulant teenager. I cross my arms and stare Luigi down. “Don’t you agree?”

“No, I don’t,” he says. “I think he was trying to protect you at the time. You were always meant to take over the family, and he didn’t want you … distracted.”

“In love, you mean?”

“Pregnant at nineteen, I mean,” he says pointedly.

“Well, that might be the only thing my father’s ever failed at,” I scoff. “Besides, Matilda is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I regret nothing.”

“Of course, Tiny,” he says, using my childhood nickname. His eyes soften, and I instantly feel bad for taking my anger out on him. “We all love Matilda, but it did complicate life for you. Anyway, that’s something we need to talk about.”

“What?” I ask, moving to the edge of my chair. I’m instantly on alert, ready to eliminate any threat to my child.

“Enzo knows,” he says slowly. “About Matilda.”

My world comes crashing down. It’s like I’ve been sucked into a vacuum, all the noise and light fading from my view. The hum of the coffeemaker, the whooshing of the wind, the kitchen walls—everything falls away, and I’m floating in complete darkness.

“Valentina!” an alarmed voice calls from somewhere in the distance. I feel rough, strong hands gripping my arms, pulling me out of the dark void.

Like breaking through ice after being trapped under, I gasp for air. Slowly, my surroundings come back into view, snapping together like puzzle pieces.

“Valentina?” Uncle Luigi calls, shaking me slightly. He’s bent over me, his face inches from mine, concern stamped on every single wrinkle.

“What? What happened?”

“You fainted,” he explains, relief washing over him. “Drink this.”

I slowly sip the ice-cold water he thrusts into my hand and try to wrap my mind around this earth-shattering news.

Enzo knows about Matilda.

All these years, I’ve kept her from him—partly out of anger, but mostly because my father threatened to take her away if I ever revealed her identity to Enzo. He’d never allow his granddaughter to be raised close to a man like him, even if it meant keeping her away from me too. And now, Enzo knows.

And he probably thinks I’m a massive bitch for keeping her a secret.

I drop my face into my hands with a groan and furiously massage my temples. Uncle Luigi watches me closely, his forehead creased with worry.

“There’s something else,” he says quietly.

“Oh god, what on earth could top that?” I cry, glaring up at him.

“Remember the spray paint? And the song?” he asks, nervously tapping his fingers against the table.

"How can I not?" The search for the culprit was fruitless since no one saw who snuck inside, and the security cameras didn’t capture anything.

“The8 have been targeting Enzo, too. That’s how he learned about Matilda. I think someone’s out to get him.”

“Or us,” I say worriedly. “Are we in danger? Is Matilda in danger?”

Uncle Luigi stares out the window quietly, a war playing out in his mind. Finally, he sighs and steeples his fingers in front of his face. His tired eyes meet mine, and I know we’re about to do something he doesn’t like.

"I think we should lay low and see what happens,” he finally says. “Enzo is looking into it and assured me he’ll keep us updated. If we bring this to your father, you know you’ll be on the first flight back to California, and… I can see that’s not what you want.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, flashing him a small smile of gratitude.

“We’re safe here,” he continues. “Matilda is safe. We’ll beef up our security for the next few weeks. But Valentina?”

“Yes?”

“Stay away from Enzo.”

I spend the next few days in hyper-vigilance mode, making sure Matilda is never alone.

We quietly hire a third-party security company to patrol the grounds at all times. When my father calls, Uncle Luigi casually talks business, never once mentioning the trouble brewing here. As for the spray paint incident, it’s been dismissed as random graffiti—nothing serious, just a prank.

Any space in my mind not occupied with Matilda’s safety is overtaken by thoughts of Enzo. I spend the week lost in a haze of nostalgia, remembering all the little ways he made me feel safe and loved that summer.

It was only a few months, but it was real. An undeniable soul connection, and even now, my soul yearns for him.

As I’m getting Matilda ready for her daily private lessons, I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. It was a month after that sizzling afternoon at the studio, the last time I saw Enzo.

Once I realized Enzo was gone, I spent a month in bed, crying and refusing to speak to anyone. I knew that what we had could end at any moment, but I never expected him to just ghost me.

When I started throwing up every morning, my mother was convinced that my depression had started manifesting in physical ways and dragged me to the doctor.

I’ll never forget the bewildering combination of emotions I felt when I got the call from the doctor’s office. I was six weeks pregnant, depressed, heartbroken, and completely alone.

But I had a glimmer of hope to hang on to—a tiny piece of Enzo that I could cherish forever.

“All done.” I grin down at her tiny, happy face and tug on a braid. “Ready for your lessons?”

“Yes, but I wish I got more computer time.” She pouts, hopping down from the little stool she uses to reach the bathroom sink. “And more Lego time.”

“Just like your dad.” I laugh and marvel at how similar her interests are to Enzo’s. At nearly six years old, Matilda is already deeply interested in technology, math, and how everything works.

“Daddy?” she gasps, her eyes lighting up instantly.

Shit. Per my father’s command, I rarely mention Matilda’s father.

I know she’s curious why all her friends back in California have daddies and she doesn’t. It sometimes throws her into little melancholy moods, and she tries to question me, but I rarely reveal anything.

My phone rings, saving me from the conversation, and I shoo her out of the bathroom. Distracted, I answer it without checking the ID.

“Hello?”

A series of clicks and beeps assaults my eardrums. I instantly drop the call, annoyed at myself.

These blocked numbers have been calling all week, and I’ve started ignoring them. It’s always either these weird beeps or Mussorgsky’s Songs and Dances of Death playing eerily through the speakers.

I curse and text my tech guy, letting him know I got another one. He’s been trying to trace the calls but hasn’t had any luck so far.

Enzo would find the caller in a heartbeat. I mull over calling him for the millionth time, but force myself to uphold my end of Uncle Luigi’s deal.

Tucking my phone in my pocket, I wander downstairs and into the kitchen. I have about an hour before I need to meet the contractors at the waterfront complex to do the final design walkthrough.

Although this place is just another front for our cross-country drug trafficking empire, I’m pretty proud of it.

Not only will it give the residents of this city tons of new social places to gather, but I designed it all myself. From the living walls to the community rooftop garden and wellness studio, I’ve left little pieces of myself all over the complex.

A small package on the kitchen island catches my eye. I wander over and examine it, looking for an address, but it’s unmarked.

It’s perched on top of a pile of mail, so I figure Uncle Luigi or whoever brought it in must have checked to make sure it’s safe. I pull the ribbon off and pop the top open, confused at what I see.

One by one, I pull out the four wooden blocks. Children’s alphabet blocks.

I stare at the letters dumbly, trying to figure them out. There’s only one option I realize, arranging the blocks in a neat line.

Stay.

Stay? What the hell?

I glance around the kitchen, feeling like I’m being watched.

The sight of security guards patrolling the grounds momentarily calms me down, but I call Uncle Luigi anyway. He confirms he hasn’t been to the house all night and didn’t bring in the mail this morning.

I check the security cameras, but there's nothing there. No sign of someone entering the house with a package.

With shaky hands, I tuck my phone away and head to the living room. A group of my associates has gathered to discuss business, but none of them brought the mail inside.

After tracking down Uncle Alfonso and instructing him to stick to Matilda like glue today, I head to the complex.

I’m nervous and jittery the entire way, turning the message over and over in my head. I check my rearview mirror, catching another glimpse of the dark sedan that was parked outside my house.

They’ve been following me the entire time, staying far enough away that I can’t see their faces.

I pull into the giant, empty parking lot of the complex and park near the doors where the contractors left their vans. Glancing back again, I don’t see the sedan in the parking lot and breathe a sigh of relief. This shit is really making me paranoid.

After a successful walkthrough, I nearly sprint back to my car, desperate to get home to Matilda. Four wooden blocks placed carefully on my passenger’s seat stop me in my tracks. My blood runs cold, but I force myself to get into the vehicle.

Away, the blocks read.

The message isn’t “stay.” It’s “stay away.”

I quickly check my backseat and when everything looks clear, throw my car into drive and peel out of the parking lot. On the way home, I call Uncle Luigi and give him the update. He agrees to meet me at the house immediately.

I’m checking over my shoulder and the rearview mirror the entire drive home, paranoid as hell. When I stop at a red light, the overwhelming reality of what happened fully hits me.

My car was locked. They got into my locked car to leave this message. And they got into my security-patrolled, locked house to leave the first package.

I nearly throw up from worry over Matilda, but force myself to speed home. When I start down the long, winding driveway to the house, I catch sight of Matilda running through the snow with Alfonso, and my heart settles.

She’s safe.

I pull into the heated garage and make my way through the kitchen to check on Matilda. A large, unmarked box on my kitchen table stops me in my tracks.

A third part of the message?

With trembling fingers, I slip off the ribbon and open the box. Fear drains my body of blood, and I get light-headed. A pink princess cake, eerily similar to the one Matilda requested for her birthday, sits in the box.

Except the pink icing doesn’t spell out “Happy Birthday.” I read it again and again, until my vision blurs.

“ You took what’s mine. Now I take what’s yours.”