Page 10 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
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 faintclick.
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.
