Page 52 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
“Fine,” he mutters. The door opens and closes behind him, his departure leaving an emptiness that feels both a relief and a wound. I stare into the dark, my chest tightening as I wonder how we’ve come to this.
The next morning, the estate feels oddly hollow. Luca is nowhere to be found. No note, no message. Just his absence, as if he’s evaporated into thin air. I don’t ask anyone where he’s gone, unwilling to betray even the smallest hint of concern. Instead, I wander aimlessly through the mansion, my steps echoing off marble floors as I drift from one wing to the next.
The staff bustle around me, preparing meals, cleaning rooms, and arranging fresh flowers in enormous vases. I move past them like a ghost, my thoughts tangled and heavy.
By mid-morning, I find myself in one of the sprawling living rooms. The space is lavish, with gilded mirrors and plush furniture, but the grandeur barely registers. It feels cold, too perfect to be lived in.
I’m about to turn back when a soft, unfamiliar voice stops me.
“Excuse me, are you Mrs. Salvatore?”
I freeze, then turn slowly. A young woman stands by the window, framed by the sunlight streaming in. She’s beautiful in an effortless, classic way, with dark, glossy hair that falls in waves over her shoulders and eyes so green they seem almost otherworldly. Her fitted dress hugs her figure, elegant and understated, but there’s a sharpness in her posture that suggests she’s no stranger to power.
“Yes,” I say cautiously. “Who are you?”
She steps forward, extending a hand with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Aria Lombardi.”
The name rings faintly familiar, though I can’t place it.
“I was hoping to speak with Enzo,” she continues, her tone polite but cool. “Is he available?”
I shake her hand, though my grip is hesitant. “I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t exactly check in with me.”
Her smile widens. She honestly doesn’t look like she belongs to this world. “I understand. Do you mind if I wait here?”
I nod slowly, stepping aside to let her take a seat on one of the armchairs.
Something about Aria makes me want to leave, and quickly. “I’ll go look for him. My husband should know where he is,” I say briefly, before scurrying toward the study. Luca should be in there, and maybe his beloved hitman will be with him.
As I near the heavy oak door, I notice it’s slightly ajar. I hear Enzo’s voice on the other side, calm and measured, though tinged with something I can’t quite name. “...yes, I understand. But her father...it’s not that simple, Luca. He died protecting this family. How long do you think news like that stays hidden?”
I freeze, pressing myself against the wall outside the door, my heart hammering in my chest.
“I don’t think she suspects,” Enzo continues, his voice low but clear. “But we’ll have to tread carefully. If she finds out...yes. Fine, we’ll make sure Valentina doesn’t know of this.”
I swallow hard, anger and confusion warring within me. My chest tightens as I hear Enzo’s chair creak, and I quickly retreat down the hall before he can spot me.
That’s it. That’s where I draw the fucking line.
I can’t stay here, not when I’m drowning in lies and half-truths.
The night deepens, the estate quiet except for the distant hum of security patrols. I sit by the window, staring into the dark, trying to piece together what little I overheard. Luca knocks on the door, and for a moment, I consider letting him in.
“Valentina,” he calls, his voice steady. “Open the door.”
I stand, taking a step toward the door, but the memory of Enzo’s words stops me. “Go away, Luca,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay firm.
Silence follows, thick and heavy. Then, a quiet sigh. “You’re fighting a losing battle,” he says in a way that makes my skin prickle. His footsteps fade down the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Enough is enough.
A few hours later, I’m on to something. It’s a little dangerous, but at least I’m still early on in my pregnancy. It’d be downright impossible a few months from now.
Climbing down the pipe isn’t as hard as I expected. My hands scrape against the cold metal, my muscles burning as I lower myself carefully. It’s almost a relief to feel the night air against my skin when I reach the servants’ quarters. I creep through the narrow hallways, my heart pounding with every step.
The back entrance is just ahead. I’m so close I can taste it—until I hear the soft click of heels behind me. “Well, well,” a voice drawls, sharp and amused.
I whirl around to see Aria Lombardi standing just a few feet away, her arms crossed and a smirk tugging at her lips.
