Page 13 of Sins of the Father
He took a step closer. She retreated until her back met the desk. Nowhere to go.
“I’m always serious, Miss Bonino. You are mine. Now it’s time you came home.”
“Home?” Her voice cracked. “Thisismy home. I have duties. Students. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you and—”
He lifted a hand. Not to strike her, but to touch—fingers stroking a strand of her hair, testing its softness as though weighing silk. Her awareness sharpened with a startling clarity: how close he stood, the heat of his body brushing the air between them, the clean, masculine scent that curled into her senses. She saw the hard cut of his jaw, the dark intensity of his eyes, the strength coiled in him that nothing in her life had ever prepared her for.
It should have disgusted her, this intrusion, this almost sensual gesture from a man she had every reason to despise. Distressingly, it did not. Instead, something low and unfamiliar twisted inside her, a pull she could neither name nor fight.
Their gazes locked, and his burned with the same awareness tightening in her belly. Mia’s heart lurched into a wild, uneven race.
That glimmer of a smile curved his mouth again as he murmured, low and intimate, “You’ll learn to want what you’re given.”
Heat flooded her face. She slapped his hand away, the sting biting into her palm. His men shifted at the movement, but he lifted a single finger and they froze. The casual command of it,the way power seemed to ripple from him with nothing more than a gesture, made her tremble with something she refused to name.
She forced her spine straighter, desperate to mask the riot inside her. “Mr. Valachi, I—”
“Luc,” he drawled, provocation lacing his words and gleaming in his eyes. “We will be wed soon. Formalities are unnecessary between us, Mia.”
She jutted her chin. “I won’t go, and I will not marry you. I belong here. If you try to force me—”
He stepped in fully, close enough she could feel the heat of him through her blouse, the scent of expensive cologne and something darker beneath. She hated that her pulse jumped at it.
“I don’t need to force you,” he said quietly. “I only have to remove what keeps you here. This building, your sisters, your precious students. Do you understand me, little dove?”
She went still, the full weight of his meaning sinking into her. “You… you would harm them?”
“Of course,” he drawled, as if they were speaking about something casual.
A tear rose hot behind her eyelid. Mia swallowed it down. “You’re amonster.”
“Maybe.” He leaned so close she felt his breath against her ear, warm and dangerous. “But I am your monster now; be glad for that.”
“Arrogant and unfeeling,” she snapped.
He turned his head, and his lips brushed her cheek. Heat flared through her—weak, shameful, impossible to name. Every instinct screamed to shove him away, and still she stood rooted, trapped between revulsion and an answering ache she did not want.
“If you want a demonstration, I’ll fetch the sister back in and break her neck. Do you understand me, little dove?”
Shock froze Mia for a long, hollow second; then her breath caught, and the room narrowed to the shape of his face. He had called herdove—not as some foolish endearment, but as a reminder that she was prey to be taken, and he the hunter. Patient, certain, cruel, and callous. The awareness of it lanced through her, stinging with humiliation, yet something deeper shivered awake inside her. Mia’s skin prickled as though he had branded her with it, the sound of his voice wrapping around her in a way she despised but could not ignore. It terrified her how easily he could strip her of dignity with a single word, and worse still, how a part of her—betraying her utterly—thrummed with a dangerous awareness of him.
“Yes,” she said, voice rough and small. “You… you will hurt them if I do not comply.”
He shifted away from her, and before she could flinch away, he pressed a phone into her palm. It was sleek, new, and already warm from his pocket.
“Keep this on you. Answer whenever I call. Someone will come for you soon.”
Mia didn’t take it. He closed her fingers around it himself. His skin was rougher than she expected. Warmer too. Then he stepped back, like he’d just concluded a polite meeting. One of his men opened the door. Sister Therese rushed to her side, scolding him in whispered Latin he ignored completely.
Valachi paused at the threshold, looking back at her. His eyes flicked to her mouth, lingered a heartbeat too long. Then he left. Mia stood frozen, the phone biting into her palm, the saints in the stained glass staring down with painted mercy. She prayed they were still listening. Because she knew now—no one else would.
The echo of Valachi’s footsteps faded down the hall. Only then did Mia’s knees give out. She sank into the old armchair behind the desk, the phone he’d forced on her still clutched tight, her heart hammering.
Oh God, what do I do now?
Sister Therese closed the door softly, locked it, and knelt at her side. The nun’s warm, dry hands cupped Mia’s trembling ones. Outside, she heard Valachi’s car start and roll away, its engine fading into the distance. If only it were gone for good.
“Oh, my sweet girl.” She brushed Mia’s hair from her damp cheek. “I am so sorry. I prayed that people from your past would never come.”
