Page 14 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
The words settle over me, and they feel unreasonably tender.
It’s not just the gesture—it’s the thought behind it. My mother has spent years struggling, scraping by after my father’s mistakes left us drowning in debt. Luca didn’t just solve her problems; he gave her a life she could never have dreamed of.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
The evening stretches on, a blur of introductions and forced smiles. Luca keeps me close the entire time, his hand moving from my back to my arm to the curve of my waist with a familiarity that makes my skin tingle.
When the music shifts to something slower, softer, he doesn’t give me a choice.
“Dance with me,” he says, already leading me toward the center of the room.
I want to protest, to tell him I’m not in the mood, but the words dissolve on my tongue. His hand slips into mine, the other settling firmly on my waist, and suddenly we’re moving.
The crowd fades away, the music wrapping around us like a cocoon.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips so close to my ear that I feel the words more than I hear them.
I glance up at him, searching for some hint of mockery, but there’s none. His green eyes are dark, focused entirely on me, and for a moment, the tension between us feels less like a battle and more like the aftermath.
“This is the beginning,” he continues, in that damnably deep and rich voice of his, “Of our life together.”
There’s a promise in his words, but I can also hear the warning:you're mine, Valentina, and don't you ever forget it.
I don't think I could if I tried.
The hand on my waist tightens slightly, pulling me closer. My pulse quickens, and I hate the way my body reacts, the way his touch sends ripples of heat through me despite everything.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending.”
The conviction in his voice leaves me breathless.
His hand shifts, his thumb brushing lightly against the curve of my hip, and I feel my resolve cracking, splintering under the weight of him.
I glance toward Sofia, seated at a table near the edge of the room. She’s watching us with a mixture of concern and something else—hope, maybe.
She catches my eye and offers a small, encouraging smile.
When I look back at Luca, he touches my chin lightly. “You’re trembling,” he whispers, his lips so close I can feel the heat of his breath.
“It’s not fear,” I reply, though I don’t know if I’m convincing him or myself.
His lips curve into a smile, and I don’t know if I want to run from him or toward him.
Hours later, when everything is over and the last of the wine has been drunk and the final guest has left, he leads me upstairs.
The suite meant for both of us has a plethora of rooms, but Luca steers me towards one, the inside of which is a masterpiece of old-world elegance and modern luxury. Dark wood paneling lines the walls, offset by the soft glow of amber lighting. A massive four-poster bed dominates the room, draped in satin and velvet that practically shouts wealth and decadence.
But all I see is Luca.
He stands near the door, his tie loosened just enough to hint at the man beneath the polished exterior. His green eyes burn with an intensity that makes the air in the room feel heavier, charged with something I can’t name but can’t escape.
I take a step back, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. My pulse thunders in my ears, my breath shallow as I try to make sense of the storm raging inside me.
Luca doesn’t move right away. He simply watches me, his gaze unrelenting, taking in every flicker of emotion that crosses my face.
“You’re nervous,” he observes.
