Page 55 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
I hesitate at the bottom of the steps. I expect to feel free. I don’t. I expect to feel safe. I don’t. I only feel gone.
22
LUCA
Sleep doesn’t come, which isn’t unusual for me. This isn’t the first night to stretch long and heavy, filled with things undone, threats looming. But tonight is different. It’s not business weighing on my chest like a stone, not the enemies at the gates or deals left dangling.
It's my wife.
I sit in the dim glow of the study lamp, a glass of whiskey untouched at my side, and wrestle with the words I should have told her. The truth about her father. Antonio Russo wasn’t perfect—far from it. But the man didn’t die because of his gambling debts or because he was a weak fool who got in over his head. No, Antonio was killed protecting this family, protecting me.
I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. I thought keeping the truth from her would shield her, would give her one less reason to resent me. But in trying to protect her, I’ve only driven a deeper wedge between us. The affection that was growing between us seems like a thing of the past, because she’s been avoiding me like the plague, and when she does look at me, its with nothing but rage.
The thought of her looking at me that way forever is unbearable.
By the time dawn breaks, my decision is made. I’ll tell her everything. She deserves that much. Maybe it won’t change her opinion of me, of this life, but at least I won’t have this lie festering between us.
I push away from the desk and head for the bedroom, the halls eerily quiet in the early morning light. The door to our room is closed, but a sliver of light filters through the crack at the bottom.
I knock once.
“Valentina.”
Silence.
I knock again, harder this time.
“Open the door. We need to talk.”
Still nothing. A flicker of irritation sparks in my chest. She’s stubborn, I know that, but this silence is deliberate.
I grip the handle, turning it, but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked from the inside. A slow, dreadful gut feeling creeps up on me. This isn’t the first time Valentina has locked the door to me, but something’s different about the silence. “Valentina,” I bark, my voice low but filled with warning. “This isn’t a game. Open the door.”
Nothing.
I take a step back, fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. Fine. If she wants to play this game, I’ll give her space. But when I return, she’s going to hear me out whether she likes it or not.
The hours pass slowly, the estate buzzing with its usual activity. I bury myself in meetings, finalizing plans to counter the growing threat from the Lombardis. Marco updates me on our informants, Dante provides the latest intel on our shipments, and I nod, make decisions, give orders.
But my mind keeps drifting back to Valentina.
By mid-afternoon, I can’t take it anymore. The tension in my chest has grown unbearable, each unanswered question pressing harder against my ribs. I leave the conference room without a word, ignoring the questioning glances from my men as I head for the bedroom.
This time, I don’t knock.
The door is still locked, and my patience is gone. With one swift kick, the door splinters open, slamming against the wall. The sight inside stops me cold.
The room is a mess. Sheets stripped from the bed, drawers left ajar, clothes scattered across the floor. The air feels stale. She’s gone. I step inside, the floor creaking beneath my weight, and pick up a discarded scarf from the edge of the bed. It smells like her, light and floral, a scent that’s burned into my memory. Rage simmers beneath my skin, hot and volatile. “Damn it, Valentina.”
I slam a fist against the doorframe, the wood cracking under the force. My mind races, piecing together the clues I hadn’t noticed before. The way she’s been avoiding me. The coldness in her eyes. And then it hits me like a freight train.
Sofia.
I should’ve known that woman was trouble from the start. Her rebellious streak, her unwavering loyalty to Valentina—it was a recipe for disaster.
I stalk out of the room, barking orders at the nearest guard. “Get Marco. Now.”
Marco meets me in the study within minutes, his expression grim.
