Page 47 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
“Sofia.” My voice is low, but not the tone of someone seeking a civil conversation. I step inside without waiting for an invitation, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the cramped space.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps, closing the door behind us.
Marco takes up his post by the door, leaning against it with the casual menace of a man who’s seen more violence than most people could imagine. His presence alone silences Sofia’s initial protests.
I glance around the apartment, noting its simplicity—bookshelves crammed with mismatched novels, a couch with fraying edges, a small table set for one. It’s not what I expected for someone so adept at meddling in my business. “You’ve been filling my wife’s head with ideas,” I begin, turning my full attention to her. My voice is calm, but every word carries the weight of a storm on the horizon. “Telling her to run. To betray the life I’m trying to give her.”
Sofia doesn’t flinch. Instead, she squares her shoulders, her chin tilting up in defiance. “I’ve been telling her to protect herself. Big difference, don.”
The title drips with mockery, and Marco stiffens beside me.
“I’m only going to say this once,” I continue, ignoring her jab. “You will stop. Whatever you think you’re doing, it ends now.”
Sofia lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “You really think scaring me will fix things with Valentina? God, you’re clueless.”
My patience snaps, and I take a step closer, towering over her. “Careful, Sofia.”
“Or what?” she challenges, her voice unwavering. “You’ll kill me? That’ll really win Valentina over, won’t it?”
The audacity of this woman would almost be impressive if it weren’t so infuriating. Marco’s chuckle breaks the tension, and I shoot him a look that silences him instantly.
Sofia smirks, clearly emboldened. “Here’s a free piece of advice, don. If you want Valentina to trust you, stop treating her like a prisoner. Maybe try listening to her instead of barking orders like she’s one of your soldiers.”
I grind my teeth, unwilling to admit that her words hit closer to the truth than I care to acknowledge. Before I can respond, a faint chime comes from Sofia’s phone. She pulls it out, and her smirk turns into a full grin as she swipes at the screen.
“Valentina,” she says sweetly, holding the phone up for me to see.
My heart drops. There, on the screen, is my wife, her face half-lit in the glow of her own phone. Her expression is a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Luca,” she says, her voice icy. “I can’t believe you’d sink so low as to threaten my best friend.”
The line disconnects before I can respond. For the first time in years, I feel the distinct sensation of losing control.
19
LUCA
The drive back to the estate feels long. Marco sits silently beside me. Sofia’s smirk, her defiant words, still echo in my head. “She’s scared, Luca,” Marco says eventually, cautiously. “You know that, right?”
“Fear is a weapon,” I reply curtly. “But it can also be a weakness.”
Marco doesn’t respond, and I don’t care to elaborate. I’ve said what needed to be said.
The road stretches ahead, dark and winding, the headlights carving through the shadows. As the silence thickens, my mind pulls me back—to the past, to lessons learned the hard way.
All of a sudden, I’m twelve years old, standing in the middle of a bloodstained warehouse. My father looms over me, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that feels like it could swallow me whole.
“Do you know what mercy gets you, Luca?” he growls, holding my chin in his iron grip. His voice is sharp, guttural, each word a hammer driving the point home.
I shake my head, the fear making my body tremble.
“It gets you dead.”
He gestures to the man kneeling on the ground, blood dripping from his nose, his hands tied behind his back. “This man betrayed the family. And what happens to those who betray us?”
“They die,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Louder!”
“They die!”
