Page 11 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
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 imposingcontrol, 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 survivingthis 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.
