Page 50 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
Dante propels us through the night toward home. At last, we reach the estate, its towering facade bathed in the stark, icy glow of the security lights. As the engine idles, I remain seated for a moment, gripping the door handle. My reflection stares back at me in the tinted window—sharp lines, dark eyes, and a tense jaw. The man in the glass looks more like my father than I care to admit.
“Luca?” Dante turns to glance at me from the front seat, his expression carefully neutral. He knows better than to press, but I can sense his unease.
“I’m fine,” I say curtly, pushing the door open and stepping out.
The cold air bites at my face as I adjust my jacket, the weight of the past hour settling on my shoulders like an iron shroud. Antonio Russo’s loyalty complicates everything. But none of it matters as much as the woman waiting inside that house.
My chest tightens at the thought of her. The way her fire matches mine, her sharp tongue, her refusal to bend, it drives me mad. And yet, it pulls me in like nothing else ever has. But her defiance? Her repeated attempts to run? That ends tonight.
I stride toward the massive oak doors, Marco falling into step beside me.
“Dante,” I say over my shoulder. “Have the guards double-check the perimeter tonight. I want no surprises.”
“Understood,” Dante replies, already on his phone as he walks away.
Marco doesn’t leave, though. He matches my pace, his gaze flicking to my face. “You’re quiet.”
I glance at him. “And you’re nosy.”
His grin is fleeting but genuine. “Family trait.”
The corners of my mouth twitch, but I force the reaction down. Now is not the time for levity.
We step into the grand hall, the warmth of the estate doing little to thaw the cold knot in my chest. The chandeliers above cast long, glittering shadows, and the faint murmur of staff echoes from somewhere down the hall.
I stop, my shoes scuffing against the polished floor. “Leave me, Marco.”
He hesitates, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure?”
“Go,” I repeat.
With a shrug, he walks off, his footsteps fading into the distance. Alone now, I square my shoulders and ascend the sweeping staircase. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of my anger and frustration building with every moment.
When I reach the door to the study, I don’t knock. It’s my house, my kingdom, and I don’t need permission to enter. I push the door open, the hinges creaking softly.
The room is dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the dark wood paneling. Valentina is sitting in one of the leather armchairs by the window, her legs tucked beneath her, a book open on her lap. She looks up as I enter, her expression guarded.
“Enjoying your alone time?” I ask, my voice colder than I intend.
Her lips press into a thin line. “If you’re here to lecture me again, save it.”
I take a step closer, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. “You think this is a game, Valentina? Running from me? From this life?”
“I think it’s my life,” she snaps, standing up and setting the book aside. “And I should have a say in how I live it.”
Damn this woman and damn how livid she makes me. “You had a choice before you married me. Now, your choices affect more than just you.”
Her hand drifts to her stomach almost unconsciously, and my eyes follow the motion. The reminder of what’s at stake douses my rage. “You’re carrying my child,” I say, my voice dropping. “You think I’ll let you endanger them? Run to some fantasy of freedom while leaving behind the only protection they’ll ever have?”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t back down. “Protection? You call this protection? A life surrounded by violence, by men who would kill us both if they thought it would serve their purposes?”
I step closer, so close I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat. “Yes. Because I know this world, and I control it. No one touches what’s mine without paying the price.”
The words hang between us.
“You don’t get it,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “This isn’t about control. It’s about the life we’ll give our child. I don’t want them growing up in fear, Luca.”
“And I don’t want them growing up weak,” I counter, my voice like steel. “They’ll have everything—power, protection, a legacy. You can’t take that from them, Valentina.”
