Page 5 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
But debts don’t disappear in the shadows of independence.
I stride into the living room and sit on the couch, crossing one leg crossing over the other. A cigar slides easily between my fingers, and I light it with a flick of the silver lighter Marco places in my hand.
I close my eyes briefly, exhaling. Patience is not a virtue I often indulge in, but tonight, I allow myself this small luxury. The pieces are falling into place.
Marco and Adriano take their positions. We wait. It doesn’t take long. The faint shuffle of steps echoes from the stairwell. Then, the sound of keys jingling, the hesitant scrape of the door opening.
She knows immediately.
“Hello?” Valentina’s voice calls softly, uncertain.
The door swings wider, and her shadowed figure comes into view. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, her eyes searching. When they land on me, her entire body stiffens. “What the—” She cuts herself off, her breath catching audibly.
“Good evening,” I say, my voice calm, deep.
She blinks, as though trying to convince herself I’m not real. Then, the fire sparks in her eyes, replacing the shock. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I take another drag of the cigar, holding her gaze. “You left the funeral so abruptly. I thought we should talk.”
Her hands curl into fists, and she steps fully into the room, the door slamming shut behind her. “You need to leave. Now.”
I smile faintly, gesturing to the chair opposite me. “Sit.”
“Like hell I will!” she snaps, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear.
Adriano and Marco move as one, stepping forward. Their silent warning is clear, and she freezes, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. Reluctantly, she lowers herself into the chair, her posture rigid.
“That’s better,” I say, leaning forward slightly. The light from the lamp casts shadows across my face, sharpening the lines of my jaw. “Your father owed me, Valentina. A debt he ran from, time and time again. Half a million dollars, squandered on whiskey and bad decisions.”
Her mouth opens, but no words come out.
“Did you think that debt would disappear with his death?” I continue, my voice cool and detached in it’s authority. “Did you think I’d simply forget?”
“I…I don’t have that kind of money,” she stammers, her composure cracking.
“No,” I agree, my gaze locking onto hers. “You don’t.”
She flinches, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. “If you just give me time?—”
“Don’t lie to me,” I cut her off, my voice like a whip. “Time changes nothing. Your father was a coward. And now, you carry his burden.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she doesn’t look away.
“Which brings us to your options,” I say, leaning back once more.
“Options?” She asks, blinking at me. The corners of her wide, doe-like eyes crease.
“Marry me,” I continue, not raising my voice, “and the debt is erased. Or refuse, and I’ll collect what’s owed in blood. Starting with your mother.”
The color drains from her face, her breath hitching audibly. “You wouldn’t,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
I lean in, my eyes locking onto hers. “I don’t waste anything, sweet girl. Least of all words.”
For a long moment, the only sound is the faint crackle of the cigar in my hand. Then I stand, towering over her, my presence consuming the space between us.
“You have until tomorrow evening to make up your mind,” I say softly, almost gently. “Choose wisely.”
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