Page 48 of Sins of the Father
In that moment, the lover vanished, replaced by the ruthless mafia don. So she learned.
Mia had chosen a gun that fit her grip—a sleek 9mm with a matte-black finish—and a knife small enough to strap against her thigh without notice. Under his relentless training, she learned how to defend, strike, and disarm. Luc moved like a predator, all precision and grace, and she mirrored him as best she could. Her muscles ached every night, but pride burned beneath the soreness. Now, she could aim, shoot, and hit her mark. She could fight.
When training ended, Luc disappeared into his office for hours, working behind a wall of silence and steel. He ran legitimate businesses—shipping, construction, tech—and yet his empire still rose on the bones of blood and mayhem. Gabriella had once told her that, unlike other dons, Luc refused to deal in trafficking or the deaths of innocents. It was a code of honor in a world that had none. The thought had filled Mia with a strange, reluctant admiration.
And in the nights, he was hers again.
He made love to her with the same focus he trained her with—sometimes controlled, other times passionate, demanding, and devastating. Between those moments were movie nights filled with laughter, afternoons spent at the bowling alley, and paintball wars where he let her win once or twice. He listened when she read to him, his hand tracing idle circles on her thigh while she lost herself in her favorite stories.
He had even accompanied her on a few shopping trips—an experience she’d both enjoyed and regretted. Her modest plan to buy simple, practical clothes had been completely overruled. Now her closet overflowed with designer dresses, shoes, and handbags in every imaginable color. She told herself it was excessive, but every time she opened those gleaming shelves, she couldn’t help smiling. Maybe a little luxury wasn’t so terrible. Sometimes, as she ran her fingers over the soft fabrics andimagined Luc watching her try them on, Mia thought she liked being spoiled by him more than she’d admit.
It all felt dangerously ordinary.
Mia looked across the mat at Luc now, his shirt damp with sweat, his expression unreadable as always. And for the first time, she wondered if this balance of tenderness and brutality was the only kind of peace a man like him could offer.
Because if life with him stayed like this, if she kept feeling this thrill of power, this safety, this fierce pull toward him…
Would she ever truly want to leave?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mia woke late, the soft morning light spilling across the bed in golden streaks. She groaned, pressing a hand to her temple when she saw the clock. She had overslept again, thanks to Luc and the night they’d shared.
Last night, they had walked barefoot along the shore, the tide brushing their feet as they spoke of everything and nothing—his childhood memories, the absurdity of social media, and the little things that made her laugh. She had shown him TikTok for the first time, and though he claimed disinterest, he had watched the reels with her, lips quirking at the ridiculous ones. Later, beneath the stars and the surf’s soft roar, she had straddled him boldly on the lounge chair, the ocean wind tangling her hair as she lost herself to him. By the time they stumbled back to the house, dawn was already paling the horizon.
Now, her muscles ached pleasantly with memory, warmth blooming low in her belly. Shaking it off, she pushed from the sheets, took a quick shower, and dressed in a soft summer dress that clung lightly to her figure. She left her hair loose, the damp waves brushing her shoulders, and slipped her feet into simple, elegant slippers.
The house was quiet—eerily so. No faint hum of conversation, no echo of footsteps. Only the distant whisper of the ocean through open balcony doors. The scent of salt and coffee drifted faintly as she descended the grand staircase.
Her footsteps were soft on the marble floor as she made her way to the kitchen, sunlight filtering through tall windows, casting a hazy glow. The quiet felt almost intimate, as though the house itself was half-asleep. She smiled faintly, pressing a hand to her still-sore hip, and went in search of something to eat.
The kitchen smelled of coffee and lemon polish. Carlos, Gabriella’s personal bodyguard, was already there, a mug in one hand, the morning sun glinting off his watch.
“Morning,” he said, tone flat but not unfriendly.
“Morning,” she replied, glancing around instinctively. No sign of Luc. She’d wanted to talk to him about doing something—anything—beyond just being his wife. Mia enjoyed this life with Luc, glimpsing the man beneath the ruthless mask, but she wanted more. At the convent, she’d taught classes, shaping young minds and finding purpose in it. She missed that sense of meaning. She also used to write stories in secret, scribbling them late at night when the others were asleep. It had felt almost forbidden, a small rebellion she kept just for herself. She found herself craving the urge to write, to let her thoughts spill freely onto a page without guilt or secrecy.
Carlos glanced at her. “Mr. Valachi had business. He’ll be back for dinner.”
“Right.” She smiled faintly, hiding a flicker of disappointment.
He handed her a steaming mug; she held it close, savoring the warmth.
Moments later, his phone buzzed. He frowned at the screen. “Guard at the gate,” he muttered, more to himself. “Says there’s a disturbance.”
Mia’s heart jolted. “Is that usual?”
“There is nothing to worry about,” he said, “I’ll go check on it.”
She watched him stride out the back door. Mia lingered over her coffee, savoring the quiet before deciding to look for Gabriella. They spent so much of each day together that it felt strange not to see her already. Mia checked the usual spots—the patio, the library, the lounge—but Gabriella was nowhere inside. Smiling to herself, she guessed Gabriella had wandered down to the shore again. Mia headed outside to find her. The air was cool, the garden quiet except for the rhythmic lap of the sea. Sunlight dappled her shoulders as she followed the path through the trees.
An arm snaked around Mia’s throat, dragging her backward into the shadows. Shock numbed her, the world narrowing to a single, hollow moment. Dread rose in her throat, bitter and metallic, coating her tongue like poison. A sharp sting split her lip when she bit the hand that tried to muffle her scream. The man cursed, and she twisted, driving her heel hard into his shin. He grunted, loosening his hold just enough for her to spin free.
Her training kicked in. She struck fast—palm to his nose, knee to his groin. He doubled over; she pivoted, ready to run, but another man came out of nowhere, slamming her into the wall so hard her breath burst from her lungs. Mia jerked her knee up to his groin, and he blocked it. His fist cracked against her cheek, sending pain through her skull. She struck for his throat, but he twisted just in time, her knuckles barely slamming into his flesh instead of crushing it. Still, it was enough—he let out a strangled sound and staggered back. She followed through, driving her foot toward his knee, aiming to shatter the joint. He moved fast, too fast, dodging and snarling like an animal.
Pain exploded through her ribs as his elbow slammed into her side. She gasped, the air punched out of her lungs. Instincttook over—she swung again, wild and desperate—but his fist caught her mid-motion, slamming into her stomach.
Air whooshed from her in a choked gasp.
