Page 30 of The Hidden Heir

Luca chuckles lightly. "Are you being reckless just to annoy me, Valentina?"

"I'm just being brutally honest. I'm screwed either way, so why not go out with a bang, rather than a whimper?"

"Is that how you see tomorrow's wedding? As the end?" His brows pull closer, a slight frown drawing a shadow in between.

I nod slowly. "The end of my life as I know it. You've taken my freedom of choice away, Luca. What did you think would happen?"

"I'm saving your life."

"Oh, thank you. You're marrying me instead of killing me. What a grand gesture! I'm overwhelmed." I scoff and turn away from him.

A split-second later, Luca turns me around and takes me into his arms.

"Listen to me very carefully, Valentina. I may never say this again, so you need to remember it," Luca says, his voice suddenly low and reverberating somewhere deep in my ribcage. "You're becoming my wife because it's where you belong, whether you are ready to admit it or not. Stefano took you for granted. He misjudged you and he mistreated you, and if he were still alive, I'd probably kill him again for the way he hurt you. I can never undo what he did."

"Luca," I whisper, suddenly shivering against him.

"A woman like you is to be treated like a queen. You brought a Petrucci into the world, and I will stop at nothing to make sure you're never without, ever again. Do you hear me?"

I nod once.

His left hand rests on the small of my back while the right one works its way up my spine, gently settling on my nape with a softness and certainty that makes my skin tingle.

"I don't care that you despise these circumstances, but I will not let anyone ever come close enough to hurt you or Michael. Don't make me repeat myself, Valentina. I don't like that."

"Well, pardon me," I mutter, unable to help myself.

He kisses me, but it's not a furious kiss. I sense the hunger, the longing, the curiosity burning inside him. It feels decisive. It's a message from his heart to mine, asking me to trust this man for once in my life.

To let him lead.

I may not have any other choice.

9

VALENTINA

The kiss a groom gives his bride should feel like the beginning of a wonderful new chapter. A seal of faith and love, of complete giving of oneself unto the other. Yet to me, it feels like the promise of something neither Luca nor I fully understand.

Our lips meet, and the two dozen guests present in the Petrucci mansion’s backyard clap and cheer for us with what sounds like genuine joy. Their words of congratulations and bright encouragement wash over me, yet I feel…

Alone.

Scared.

Beautiful in this wedding dress.

“May you both live a long and bountiful life,” Father Alfredo from Chicago’s Archdiocese declares, sanctifying our union. “And may you bear children and fill the world with laughter.”

It’s supposed to be a well-meaning wish. A traditional bride and groom would appreciate the words. But as I slowly lean into Luca, playing the part of the obedient new wife to make it easier on myself, I taste the bitterness of truth. I’m not marrying out of love. I’m marrying out of fear and necessity, and it breaks my fucking heart.

“Valentina,” Luca whispers in my ear, “smile.”

Somehow, I find the strength to stretch my lips as we both turn toward our audience. Victor, Caroline, Raquel. Susie with Michael in her arms, my boy looking downright scrumptious in his mini-tuxedo. The Petruccis’ extended family, some distant cousins and uncles. A couple more delegates from the Mancini and Caruso syndicates, both giants of the Camorra alongside the Petruccis and the Mancusos.

I’m surrounded by flowers and golden ribbons, champagne glasses clinking in our honor, sunlight and soft music oozing from the strings of a dapper-looking violin quartet. My heels are low enough for me to feel comfortable but also tight enough to remind me I can never get too comfortable.

“It won’t last long,” Luca says as we prepare to receive individual congratulations from each of the guests.