Chapter 12 - Valentina
The leather seat sticks to my bare thighs as Marco’s Escalade cuts through Chicago’s empty dawn streets.
His cologne fills the confined space, mixing with gun oil and danger, making my nipples peak beneath my dress despite the terror coursing through me.
My fingers trace the Bernardi estate layout on his tablet, marking guard positions from memory while my stomach churns with equal parts fear and something darker: anticipation.
"The wine cellar entrance here," I mark the spot with a trembling finger. "Father never posts guards there because the lock is electronic. He thinks technology is more reliable than men."
"Rookie mistake," Alex says from the backseat, his voice smooth as aged whiskey despite the gun visible beneath his jacket. "Technology doesn't have instincts. Can't smell when death walks through the door."
Marco's hand covers mine on the tablet, his thumb finding my pulse point. The touch is meant to steady me, but it sends liquid heat straight to my core. Twenty-four days since he stole me, and my body still responds to him like he owns it. Which, I suppose, he does.
"How many guards inside?" His breath stirs my hair, and I have to fight not to lean into him.
"Six during the day. Two at the main entrance, two patrol the grounds, two inside." I close my eyes, picturing the rotation I memorized as a child. "But Father might have increased security for the wedding."
"Doubt it," Alex glances at us from the backseat, his green eyes knowing. "Men like your father assume their daughters are too broken to rebel. No offense, sister-in-law."
The casual use of my new title makes something twist in my chest. "None taken. He's right. I was too broken. Until…"
I stop myself before saying 'until Marco.' But his thumb strokes across my knuckles, and his dark eyes hold mine with that possessive satisfaction that makes my core tingle.
"The wedding's tonight," Marco says, his voice carrying that deadly calm that means someone's about to die. The sound makes my pussy clench. "We get Alice out before noon."
Alex's laugh is sophisticated menace. "Nothing says 'til death do us part' like stealing the bride. Though in our family, that's usually more literal."
Despite everything, I almost smile. But then Marco's hand slides to my thigh, possessive even while planning war, and I lose my breath entirely.
"Once we're inside," I continue, forcing focus through the haze of his touch, "Alice's room is on the second floor. Third door on the right. We shared it until…" Until Mother died. Until Father moved me to the other wing, punishment for looking too much like the woman who tried to leave him.
"Quick and clean," Marco says, but his fingers tighten on my thigh, and I know he's thinking about after. About what I promised him if he saves Alice. My body floods with heat at the memory of my desperate bargain: Save my sister, and I'll stop fighting. I'll be yours completely.
"Unless dear Papa has other plans," Alex adds with dark elegance. "Then we improvise with style."
The estate appears through morning mist, and my throat closes. Marco's hand moves to my neck, thumb pressing against where my pulse hammers. "Ready, principessa?"
"No," I breathe, hyperaware of his touch. "But Alice needs me."
"And you need us," he murmurs, low enough that Alex can't hear. The words hold promise and threat in equal measure.
The wine cellar entrance opens with Father's birthday. The cellar stairs descend into darkness that smells of aged Barolo and childhood terror. I threw up here the night Mother died, and I swear I can still smell the acid fear.
"Guard," Marco whispers, his body pressing against my back, and God help me, even now my traitorous pussy clenches at his proximity.
Carlo stands at the top of the inner stairs. Kind Carlo who taught me to ride bikes. My feet freeze.
Alessandro flows past like expensive smoke, his arm sliding around Carlo's throat with elegant efficiency. "Pleasant dreams," he murmurs as Carlo's eyes close. He lowers him carefully, checking his pulse. "He'll wake with a headache and a story worth telling."
The care in the gesture makes my chest tight. These killers showing mercy because I need them to.
The house feels like a mausoleum. My feet know every creaking board, every painful memory. Marco's hand on my lower back guides me, his thumb finding the dimple at my spine through my dress, possessive even in my childhood home.
Alice's door is cracked open. I push it wider and my heart stops.
She's wearing Mother's white nightgown. It looks like a wedding dress, or a funeral shroud, draped over my baby sister's drugged form. Her eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide.
"Alice," I whisper, rushing to her.
"Val?" When she finally rouses, eyes blinking against the drugs, her voice is thick. "Father said… said you're a Rosetti whore now."
The words sting, even knowing it is Father talking. "I'm here to save you, baby."
"Can't… Christopher is… Father says…"
"Father says a lot of things." I smooth her hair back, fighting tears. "Most of them are lies."
The door slams. The lock clicks like a coffin nail.
"How touching."
Alonzo stands flanked by three guards, guns drawn. He's wearing his best suit, the one for special occasions like selling his daughters.
"I knew you'd come," he says with that particular blend of disappointment and satisfaction he perfected over years. "My weak, sentimental daughter."
Marco steps forward, but three guns swing toward him. Even watching him prepare for violence makes heat between my thighs. I'm sick. Broken. His.
"Kill him," Father orders. "But leave my ungrateful daughter alive. She needs to watch."
The guards' fingers move to triggers. Marco tenses, assessing options, and I see his death in their eyes.
"Tell them about Mom, Father." The words explode from me like champagne from a shaken bottle. "Tell them how Chiara Bernardi really died."
Father's face drains of color. "Your mother died in an accident."
"Tell them about the brake lines. The mechanic you paid to cut them." I step forward, my voice growing stronger. "Tell them about watching her car burn. How you stood there, making sure she couldn't escape even in death."
The guards' guns waver. These men knew my mother. Loved her.
"You're lying," Father snarls, but his voice pitches high, his tell.
"Ask him why Giuseppe the mechanic disappeared two days later. Why he forbade her name in this house." My voice is steady now. "She was leaving. Taking us to Italy. But you couldn't let your property escape."
"Shut your mouth!" Father pulls his own gun, aims it at Marco.
The chaos is all Marco needs. He moves like death itself, beautiful, terrible, making heat flood my cheeks even as he disarms the nearest guard.
Alex moves with matching lethal grace. "Disappointing," he murmurs as the second guard falls. "I expected better from Bernardi men."
The third guard swings toward them, but hesitates. Marco's fist connects with bone.
"You killed her," the conscious guard gasps from the floor. "Mrs. Chiara… Madonna santa, you killed her."
Father backs toward the door, gun shaking. "She was mine!"
"She was never yours," I spit. "Just like we were never yours."
Alex scoops Alice with surprising gentleness, Mother's nightgown trailing like a ghost. We run through halls echoing with shouts, not at us, but at Father.
"Tell us about Chiara!" voices demand.
"Where's Giuseppe?"
"You murdered her?"
The estate erupts behind us, twenty years of loyalty crumbling with one truth. These men gave everything to the Bernardis, but Chiara was their heart.
We burst through the front door as gunfire erupts inside. Father's empire consuming itself.
Alex settles Alice in the backseat while I slide beside her. Marco takes the wheel, and the engine roars. As we tear down the driveway, smoke rises from my childhood home.
My whole body shakes, not from fear but from the magnitude of betrayal.
I just destroyed everything with truth, lit a match to the Bernardi name.
Twenty-three years of fearing him, and it took twenty-three seconds to destroy him.
The girl who threw wine at Marco would be proud.
The woman who bears his name definitely is.
"Masterfully played, sister-in-law," Alex says, turning with genuine admiration. "Remind me never to cross you."
Marco's gaze finds mine in the rearview mirror. The look sends heat through me despite everything. "You chose us."
The words hang heavy with meaning. He's not talking about today. He's talking about every choice: coming home instead of running, sharing his bed, promising myself to him completely if he saved her.
"I chose Alice," I say.
"Your father will come for you now," Marco says with certainty. "Both of you."
"Let him come." The words taste like freedom. "I'm done running."
Alex laughs with dark approval. "Definitely a Rosetti now. We don't run. We make our enemies regret finding us."
Alice stirs, mumbling about flowers. When she wakes, I'll have to explain everything. That she can never go home. That the life she knew is over.
"This is war now," Marco says, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "Real war."
"I know." I think of what I owe him now, what I promised, and heat pools low despite everything. "I'm ready."
"Are you?" His eyes find mine in the mirror, dark with promise. He knows what saving Alice means: that I'm his tonight, completely, without resistance.
The car suddenly swerves, tires screeching as Marco pulls over to the shoulder. My heart slams against my ribs as he throws it in park, the engine still running, vibrating through the leather seats.
"Marco?" Alex's voice carries a question, but Marco's already turning in his seat, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
The space between us crackles with electricity. His gaze travels down my body, then back to my face, and I see the exact moment his control snaps. The muscle in his jaw ticks. His hands grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white.
Alice sleeps against my shoulder, oblivious. Alessandro goes silent, recognizing the danger in Marco's stillness.
"One hour," Marco says, his voice rough as gravel, eyes never leaving mine. The words are a promise, a threat, a countdown that makes my entire body clench with anticipation. "Alice gets settled at the compound. Then you're mine."
The air leaves my lungs. My nipples tighten painfully against my shirt. Between my legs, I'm already soaking through my panties, my body preparing for what's coming. What I promised. What I want despite everything.
His eyes drop to where I'm pressing my thighs together, and his lips curve in a smile that's pure predator. "One hour, principessa. And then you pay your debt."