Page 25 of Sins of the Father
A shudder rippled through his mother’s body, and when she finally turned to face him, her eyes shimmered with a deep, quiet sorrow. “Then at least give her a chance.”
He frowned, startled by the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Mother—”
“Mia did not ask for this,” Rosina whispered. “She has no idea that the ‘out’ you mean for her is death.”
Cold slipped into Luc’s chest. He held his mother’s stare, offering no denial. Yes—death was the only exit. To release Mia would be to hand her over as a weapon to his enemies. That had been the Commission’s law for more than fifty years.
“What chance do you wish me to give her?” he asked, his voice like ice. “I promised her protection, a marriage, everything she could want and still she spoke of leaving.”
“Because she does not know the cost,” his mother snapped. “If she did—”
“She would stay?” His indifference turned chilling. “And what then? Walk about playing the martyr, enduring a life she never wanted? I will not allow that poison near our child.”
“Give her the chance to be loyal to you… give her the chance to trust you… give her the chance to love you, and that woman would never leave your side.”
Luc froze, something harsh and vicious tugging in his chest.
“Mio figlio, you can cage a bird, but she’ll break her wings bloody against the iron. Sometimes,”—she tapped his chest, right above his heart—“you must use the open window, not the hammer. You want a wife, not a hostage. You want her to bring light and warmth into your home, as I once did for your father… before he forgot the value of such things.”
A shadow crossed her face, gone as quickly as it came.
Luc’s knuckles whitened around his cup. He did not trust himself to speak of his father—of the mistress’s jasmine perfume on his shirtsleeves, of cold dinners left outside a locked study, of his mother’s silent humiliations pressed into pillowcases like dried flowers. Once Luc took his vows, he would honor them, but he would also live by the Commission’s code.
Get Mia to fall in love with him. What the fuck did that even mean?
“I’ll try,” he said finally.
Rosina brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers, the faded mafia crest inked on her wrist slipping from her sleeve like an old bloodstain. “Convince her,mio figlio. Give her the dreams she thought she’d lost.” Her nail traced his jawline. He tolerated it—she was his mother after all. “Then she will love you and fear you properly.”
“I know nothing about love,” he said flatly. “Nor do I have time for such nonsense.”
“You say that only because you don’t know where to begin.”
That uncomfortable pull in his chest came again, sharp and unwelcome.
Rosina set her cup down with deliberate care. “You’ll need to give Mia something real,” she said quietly. “Not jewels, not flowers, not empty promises. Something that matters to her. She likely thinks you’re a monster. And perhaps you are,mio figlio—but you are also more than a mafia king. That is what she must see. Because once Mia loves you, she will never want to leave.”
Luc was silent, his thoughts circling the impossible notion of Mia loving him. What would that mean? That the smile he’d seen in her photograph would one day be his? That when he kissed her, there would be welcome instead of fear, desire instead of shame?
“Whenever you are with her, do not think like a don, but a husband.”
His mother smiled faintly, then turned and left.
Luc leaned against the balcony rail, the stone biting into his palms. If Mia wanted to leave at the end of the year, it would mean death. He pressed a hand against his chest, unsettled by the twist at the thought of her dying.
The sunrise bled through the fog like a slow knife wound. However this ended, there were only two possibilities: Mia would come to love her gilded prison or she would leave it in a velvet-lined casket. In their world, there was no third option.
Mia barely slept.When dawn finally scraped gray light across the garden suite’s walls, she lay beneath crisp linen sheets, Luc’s kiss still burning against her lips. Somewhere beyond the glass, the ocean’s waves whispered their soothing call.
I want to feel your pussy on my tongue.
“Ugh,” she muttered, burying her hot face in her hands. Shame twisted with a hunger she wished she could deny, wishing she had let him take what he wanted. The ache lingered from her dreams, sharp and needy, her body betraying her with the wet throb between her thighs. With a furious blush, she pressed her face into the pillow, as if she could smother the want clawing through her.
A soft knock startled her. Not commanding—hesitant, almost hopeful.
“Signorina?” Gabriella’s voice, muffled through the door. “May I come in?”
Mia sat up slowly, her spine stiff. In the mirror, she caught her reflection—lips red and bruised from his kisses. “Come in,” she whispered.
