Page 63 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
“Go on,” I add, my tone firm but kind. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
Satisfied, Leo scampers off, leaving us alone once more.
Valentina sighs, leaning back in her chair. “He’s...spirited.”
“He’s brilliant,” I counter, my tone sharper than I intended. “And he’s mine.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, and I see the fire ignite in her eyes. “Don’t start this, Luca.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m stating a fact.”
The tension crackles between us like a live wire. I lower my voice, keeping it steady. “Tell me about him. About your life here.”
She hesitates, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. “There’s not much to tell. This bakery is good, business is fine. It keeps us afloat.”
“And you’ve done all this on your own,” I say, the admiration in my voice genuine. “That’s impressive, Valentina.”
She doesn’t reply, her eyes scanning my face as if searching for the catch.
“I want to know everything I’ve missed,” I say, leaning forward again. “His first words, his favorite things. You, Valentina. Tell me what your life has been like.”
Her lips part as if to speak, but she hesitates. I can see the war in her eyes—the pull of the past versus the life she’s built.
“You don’t belong here, Luca,” she finally says, her voice trembling just slightly.
I shake my head, leaning closer. “I belong with you. And you with me. Why can’t you understand that?”
The sound of the bell above the bakery door jingling cuts through our conversation. Valentina freezes, her gaze lifting toward the newcomer. I follow her line of sight to see a man striding toward us, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a casual blazer that reeks of overconfidence. He’s younger than me—late twenties, maybe—and there’s an eagerness in his step that sets my teeth on edge.
In his hand is a single red rose.
“Valentina,” the man greets warmly, his voice grating against my nerves like a dull knife.
Valentina’s surprise morphs into something carefully neutral. “Lorenzo,” she says, her tone even but polite.
Before she can react further, he holds the rose out to her, smiling like a lovesick fool. “For you. I thought I’d stop by before heading to the market.”
My chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I stand, the sound echoing through the small space. Lorenzo flinches, his head jerking in my direction, his eyes narrowing in confusion as they land on me.
“Who’s this?” he asks, his tone sharper now, his gaze flitting between Valentina and me.
“Luca was just leaving,” Valentina says quickly, her hand reaching out as if to calm me, but I’m already moving.
“No, I was not,” I growl, my voice low and cold as a winter night.
I step between her and the man, towering over him. The rose trembles in his hand, and I see his confidence falter as he looks up at me.
“I’m her husband,” I say, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.
Lorenzo’s mouth opens, then closes. He glances at Valentina for confirmation, but she’s silent, her eyes fixed on me.
“Leave,” I command, my voice brooking no argument.
Lorenzo hesitates, clearly weighing his options, but the deadly promise in my stance leaves him with no choice. With a mumbled apology, he turns and walks out, the rose abandoned on the counter.
I grab Valentina by the elbow, the urge to pull her close overwhelming. Her startled gasp barely registers as I guide her toward the back door.
“Luca,” she protests, her voice rising, but I don’t stop.
