Page 12 of Sins of the Father
Sister Therese lingered by the door, knuckles bone-white around her rosary. “Mr. Valachi wishes to speak with you, Mia. Alone.”
Mia’s eyes darted from the nun to the two men behind him—grim, silent walls of muscle. She forced her tone to be calm. “Is this necessary, sir?”
Mr. Valachi’s eyes flicked to Sister Therese. “Outside.”
The sister wavered, her look beggingBe strong. Then she obeyed, closing the door behind her. Silence swallowed the small office.
They studied each other—him, seeming to be faintly entertained by her backbone; her, trembling inside but refusing to show it.
He broke the silence, voice deep and deceptively mild. “When did you last hear from your father?”
Mia lifted her chin. “I have not seen my father in years, Mr. Valachi. I have no knowledge of his whereabouts. What is the reason for asking me about him?”
A humorless flicker of a smile. “Years ago, your father made a deal with mine. He offered you in a marriage alliance, hoping to shield you from his enemies. Since my father owed him a blood debt, he agreed to this alliance between our families.”
Her stomach flipped. “What enemies?” Mia held up a hand and took a deep breath before saying, “No, I do not care. I have been safe here in the convent and need no protection from you, sir. You will have to find my father and discuss—”
“Several years ago, your father turned witness for the Feds. He testified against Greco, a don. He was killed for that.” Mr. Valachi’s voice was steady, almost elegant in its cruelty.
Mia jerked as if struck, a tight ache squeezing her heart. “My father isdead?”
“Yes.” Valachi’s expression didn’t shift—no softness, no sympathy, only the same cold indifference as if he were discussing the weather.
She swallowed hard, her throat burning. If that was true, then how had her father arranged for her to receive the letter now? In all the years since she had last heard from her father, Mia had never imagined that death was the reason for his absence. A sharp, unexpected pain tore through her chest, and she curled her hands into tight fists, struggling to contain the storm of emotion battering her from within.
“I see,” Mia said hoarsely. “I did not realize he was… gone.”
Something dark and unknowable flickered in Valachi’s gaze—a glint that sent a chill through her veins. It was almost unbearable to withstand the weight of his stare, but Mia forced herself to lift her chin and meet it head-on, refusing to look away.
“When he decided to work with the Feds, your father understood the cost for his family, so he hid you here. He knew that once you stepped outside these walls, you would be nothing more than a lamb in a world of wolves—torn apart before anyone could save you.”
Mia stared at him, hating the slow fear winding through her chest.
“As my wife, no one would dare breathe in your direction. If they do, I will kill them.”
Mia flinched. He said it with such ruthless assurance that her heart pounded harder. How did anyone speak so casually about murdering people? She was more certain than ever that this man was far too dangerous to even know as an acquaintance.
“I have no plans to leave the convent,” she said hoarsely. “Such precautions were unnecessary on my father’s part. I release you from any perceived obligations, Mr. Valachi.”
There was a look in his eyes she could not interpret, and it terrified her. Worse, a small smile hitched the corner of his mouth.
“Unfortunately, the dowry your father offered gives you no choice.”
She shook her head, furious at the quake in her voice. “My father’sdead. It’sover. I havenothingto do with this or you, sir. Please respect my boundaries and decisions.”
A low, humorless laugh came from him, and it baffled Mia that a weird and unknown sensation fluttered low in her belly.
“The contract between our fathers stands. And now…” He stepped closer, so near she could see the cold calculation in his eyes. “You belong to me.”
She blinked once. Twice. Then Mia laughed, a soft, shocked sound that made the man before her smile, just a flash of white teeth, cruelly handsome.
“You cannot be serious?” The words slipped out breathlessly, betraying the terror that had her chest tightening, her pulse drumming painfully in her ears. Mia hated how frail she sounded, hated that he could hear her fear when every part of her wanted to stand unbroken. “I belong only to myself, sir, and I will not marry you.”
“Oh?”
The mocking cruelty in his voice was overwhelming. Panic swelled, sharp and suffocating, as the life she’d built in the convent unraveled—her steady routines, her purpose with the children, the fragile dream of teaching, of one day building a family on her own terms. All of it dangled above a fire, and this man, with his cold certainty, was holding the strings.
But beneath the fear, anger burned. She was not a puppet, not a marionette for men to jerk around as if her existence was theirs to command. Did he think he could rip her world apart so casually, with the stroke of a deal struck years ago? Her terror tangled with fury, and her voice, though shaking, carried defiance when she snapped, “I do not agree, and I never will.”
