Page 11 of Sins of the Father
A flicker of disapproval crossed his mother’s face, quickly masked. Her fingers tightened on the shawl. “So, you’ll take her even if she objects? There is not much freedom in being a wife in this life. What happens when she realizes she’s a prisoner?”
Luc’s voice dropped. “Then she’ll learn what a gilded cage looks like and learn to appreciate it.”
“She might not last here,” she warned.
“She’ll learn.”
There was cold disapproval in his mother’s gaze, but she made no further objections.
Antonio exhaled slowly. “So, it’s done.”
“It’s done,” Luc said. “We’ll announce it quietly and have the ceremony in two weeks. Small, just enough to be seen.”
“And Isabella?” Antonio asked, lifting a brow.
Luc didn’t flinch. “Handled.” It wasn’t. But it would be.
Antonio snorted. “Isabella’s eaten men alive for less. Everyone knows she wants to be your wife. You really think she’ll step aside for some convent mouse?”
Luc’s voice stayed flat. “She will.”
His mother delicately cleared her throat. “I believe some wooing from you would go a long way in making her more comfortable,” his mother said, pinning him with a hard stare.
Surprise lanced through Luc. “Wooing?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t a romance,” he said, dryly amused at his mother’s suggestion.
“No,” John said. “We all know it’s a strategy. Let’s just hope this piece doesn’t start thinking it’s a player.”
Luc’s voice sharpened. “She won’t.”
John’s smile faded. “You saw the photo. She is…stunning. Any man can lose a bit of himself over a woman like that.”
A chilling indifference filled Luc. “Do not be foolish. I would put a bullet in her before I let any woman control me.”
“Good,” John murmured.
Luc assessed them. “I need everyone to be clear. No leaks until I am ready. This marriage happens, and the decision is final.”
His mother rose slowly and deliberately. “Then I’ll prepare the guest list.”
Luc nodded once. “Keep it thin. This isn’t a spectacle.”
She paused at the door. “Everything’s a spectacle, Luc. Whether you intend it to be or not.” The doorclickedshut behind her.
Antonio stepped closer. “What now?”
Luc didn’t hesitate. “We take the bride.”
The gates creaked.From the high library window, she watched gravel stir under thick, black tires. The SUV moved slowly, deliberately. Power didn’t hurry. It didn’t knock either. It just entered. She’d known this was coming from the moment she got the letter, her father’s signature at the bottom like a command from a ghost.
Below, the nuns pulled curtains tight, murmured prayers too soft to matter. Somewhere, a door opened and then closed. Footsteps followed—heavier than any sister’s. Sister Therese had told her to wait here and pray. So, Mia did. Not for mercy, she wasn’t naïve enough for that—but for sense, for the strength to stand when the door opened. She counted the steps as they echoed down the stone hallway, drawing closer to the small room where she waited. Three sets. One heavy and calm, almost lazy. The door opened. Mia felt him first, an interruption in the air itself. A shadow that belonged here no more than a wolf belonged in a chapel. She didn’t turn until the door closed behind them.
When she looked, her throat dried. He wasn’t what she’d pictured. She had imagined someone older, maybe softer. Instead, he was unsettlingly handsome, with a curve to his mouth that hinted at a cold, arrogant, and ruthless man. He looked too solid for this old room: broad shoulders filling out an expensive suit, dark hair, and even dark, gray-blue eyes that pinned her in place like silk on a needle. She rose, hands claspedso he wouldn’t see them shake. “Mr. Valachi, I presume,” Mia said, thankful her voice was steady.
His mouth barely hitched into a smile, his gaze piercing and uncomfortable. He didn’t introduce himself.
