Page 42 of The Hidden Heir

“We haven’t picked a name for it yet,” she tells me. “Maybe you can offer a suggestion.”

“How about Michaelville?”

The boy thinks about it for a moment, his little fingers fiddling with a piece of white clay, which he shapes into a ball, placing it in the middle of his composition.

“Pretty!” he exclaims. “Michaelville!”

“Alright, I think we all agree on Michaelville then,” I exclaim, almost laughing.

Time seems to stand still for the sweetest moment as I take it all in. The scene before me is something I wish never to forget. Valentina, beautiful in her yellow sundress, her curves making my heart beat faster, while her rich brown hair falls over one shoulder in shades of chocolate. My nephew with his lush curls, giggling and playing without a care in the world.

My hand on the carpet, so close to his and bigger. The hand of the protector, one would say. The hand of the man who is going to keep them safe, who is going to make them happy and whose only goal is to give them reasons to smile.

“Why’d you come back?” Valentina asks at one point. “I thought you were angry.”

“I’m only angry at myself,” I calmly reply. “I just needed to see you.”

“Oh,” she whispers and lowers her gaze.

Her shyness gets to me every damn time. The way we lose ourselves in each other’s eyes, until she is overwhelmed by the intensity and looks away, just so she can breathe again. It’s undeniable, my effect on her, just as hers is on me. There is no turning back, and no desire to do so either.

But going forward, I require balance.

I require her body glued to mine and a smile on my nephew’s round face always. I want this house filled with laughter and light. The image of the man downstairs with a gun haunts me. However, it makes parts of me click, feeding a darkness Valentina can never know about.

She leans forward. “What is it, Luca?”

“Nothing you need to worry over,” I swiftly reply, then take a piece of red Play-Doh to join their gang. “What am I building, Mrs. Petrucci?”

“Anything you want,” Valentina says with a delicate smile.

And I know it’s supposed to be an all-encompassing statement, her way of telling me she trusts me enough to let me do what needs to be done. I just hope she never learns what that ultimately means.

13

VALENTINA

This emotional roller coaster is taking its toll on me.

Two weeks into our marriage, and I think we’re becoming a couple, but Luca has a way of pulling back just as I’m about to melt comfortably into his being. We get closer, and our nights are hot and steamy—yet when morning comes around, there’s only distance and silence between us. It’s as if he works overtime to keep himself at arm’s length, to keep himself from fully giving into me. In to us.

But when I walk downstairs one evening to find him standing in the lobby with an armful of red roses, I falter. I damn near lose my balance.

“Luca, what is this?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“I haven’t been the most consistent husband,” he says. “I never even took you out on a date, Valentina.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He just plucked me out of my Calumet City rental home and tossed me into this one. Had me pick out a wedding dress and married me, more or less against my will. He’s ravaged me in bed every night until there was nothing left of me, only to leave in the morning to “keep us safe”—or so he says.

And in the meantime, I can’t resist the urge to fall in love with him.

“You deserve better than what my brother did to you,” Luca says. “But in my line of work, it’s not always easy to do. I was hoping we could start small.”

“We can start however you like,” I reply.

He glances around, and I admire the way his jacket drapes his broad shoulder and the way his green tie brings out the subtle green specks in his eyes. “Where’s Michael?”