20. VALENTINO
20
VALENTINO
The moment we step outside onto the porch, the source of the commotion becomes painfully clear.
Eva is here, her face twisted with anger, flanked by a small group of her so-called supporters.
Her voice cuts through the night like a blade, slicing through the fragile air of the evening. “Why wasn’t I invited?” Her body is rigid with fury. “I’m family, aren’t I? Or do the Marchettis only care about those who serve their interests?”
The voices of the dinner guests murmur behind me, hushed whispers of tension spreading like wildfire.
Dad steps forward, his expression composed but laced with irritation. “Eva, this is neither the time nor the place. We’re having a private gathering. You need to leave before you make a spectacle of yourself.”
“Spectacle?” Eva sneers, her voice dripping with mockery. “The only spectacle here is your family, and your refusal to acknowledge what’s rightfully mine. You think you can just erase me, Enzo? Like I never existed? Like my grandfather never existed? His name was also on the land title as well.”
Eva scoffs, arms crossed tightly over her chest, laughing bitterly. “No, wait, let me guess. You just don’t want me to be associated with the perfect little image of the Marchetti dynasty.”
“Enough.” My tone drops dangerously low. “Eva, you are trespassing. If you don’t leave now, we’ll have no choice but to call the police.”
Her gaze snaps to me, her expression hardening. “And if I refuse, Valentino? You’ll have your guards drag me out like a criminal? That’s what this family does, right? Uses power and wealth to erase people they don’t want?”
“You’re not being erased. You’ve done that to yourself.”
Her lips curl into a venomous smirk. “And whose fault is that? We come from two different worlds. I was never given the same privileges as you, as your golden Marchetti heirs. My family’s name was dragged through the mud while yours was praised.”
A sharp thrumming floods my ears, drowning out the gasps from the guests behind me.
Not getting the reaction she’s hoping for, she pushes harder. “And your precious mother, Valentina, wasn’t the saint you all pretend she was,” Eva sneers, taking a step closer. “She played the game better than anyone, sleeping with both Silviano and your father to gain wealth. If anyone is to blame for this family’s downfall, it’s her.”
My blood turns molten. A white-hot rage erupts from my chest, choking out every rational thought.
“Keep your lies to yourself and my mother’s name out of your mouth.” My voice is lethal, low and sharp as a blade.
Eva smirks, her eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction. She knows she hit her mark. But she has no idea what the fuck she just unleashed.
“She wasn’t so pure, Valentino. She was just better at hiding her sins. Maybe if she wasn’t a slut, she wouldn’t have ended up—”
I move so fast I barely register it myself.
In the blink of an eye, I close the distance between us, my face dangerously close to hers.
Eva gasps, her confidence flickering for the first time.
“You have no right to speak about my mother.” My voice is low, venomous, vibrating with a rage I haven’t let myself feel in years. “You want to throw your tantrums? Fine. You want to slander me? Go ahead. But don’t you dare speak about my mother. You are not worthy of even saying her name.”
Eva stares at me, her breath hitching, but there’s no regret in her expression. Only defiance.
The heat of my own fury pulses through my veins, my vision blurring around the edges.
Somewhere behind me, someone gasps. Murmurs. A sharp intake of breath from Layla. But I don’t care.
Eva tilts her chin up, her lips twisting into a sickly-sweet mockery of a smile.
“Wow. Touchy subject, huh?”
My muscles coil, every instinct screaming at me to end this, to throw her out myself.
A firm hand clamps down on my shoulder.
Dante.
“Enough!” His voice cuts through the fog of my fury, snapping me back.
I realize my fingers are digging into Eva’s arm, her skin turning red beneath my grip.
Slowly, painfully, I release her, my hands trembling with restraint.
“Time to go, Eva.” Dante steps between us. His voice is lethal in its calmness.
Eva straightens her dress, her face carefully schooled back into indifference, but I see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the slight shake of her fingers.
She felt my anger. She knows she went too far. But instead of backing down, she throws me one last smirk. “Your fiancée is more like your mother than you think. A gold-digger.”
Dante moves to block me before I can react.
“Leave. Now.” His voice is all steel and authority.
Eva glances between us, then exhales through her nose, rolling her shoulders back. “Fine. I was just leaving anyway.”
She turns on her heel, but not before I catch the flash of something in her eyes.
Not defeat.
Satisfaction.
She wanted this reaction. She wanted me to snap, to lose control, to show everyone the monster she thinks I am.
Dante follows her to make sure she actually leaves this time.
The air still crackles with the lingering tension from Eva’s outburst. Even though she’s gone, I can still hear her venomous words echoing in my head, my mother’s name laced with disdain as if she had any right to speak it.
Exhaling sharply, I try to force the anger out of my body, but it clings to me like smoke from a fire I can’t put out.
I turn back to the guests, catching Layla from the corner of my eye.
She’s surrounded by Quinn and a few others. But something’s off.
I can see it in the way she tucks her hands close to her body, her fingers fidgeting like she doesn’t know what to do with them. In the way her smile is thin and forced, in the way her eyes dart around the room like she’s searching for an escape.
She’s not happy. She’s not glowing the way someone who just got engaged should be. She looks like she’s drowning.
And fuck, I feel like I’m the one who threw her overboard.
Before I can get to her, Dante steps up beside me, rubbing his jaw with a tired sigh. “Well, that was a shit show.”
Understatement of the year.
“Did she leave?” I ask, my voice still tight with frustration.
Dante nods. “Yeah. Not without making a few threats about how the ‘Marchettis haven’t seen the last of her,’ but at least she’s gone for tonight.”
He exhales sharply, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You good?”
I don’t answer immediately. My eyes flick back to Layla.
Dante follows my gaze, his brows furrowing. “She doesn’t look happy.”
His words land like a gut punch.
I know. I fucking know.
“She looked happy enough,” I mutter, but even I don’t believe the words as I say them.
Dante scoffs. “To everyone else? Maybe. But to me? To you?” He shakes his head. “She looked… off. Almost like she was trying to convince herself she was happy instead of actually feeling it.”
I swallow hard, running a hand down my face. “Yeah,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “She did.”
Dante studies me for a long moment, his sharp gaze dissecting me like he can see right through me. “You don’t look too happy yourself, brother.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”
Dante tilts his head slightly, waiting. He knows I need to get something off my chest.
I exhale slowly. “Everything feels wrong.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, but once they’re out, they won’t stop. “From the second I got down on one knee, it was like I was watching myself from the outside. Like I was in a fucking movie playing a role I don’t even know if I want.”
Dante arches a brow. “You sure this wasn’t the plan all along?”
I shake my head. “The plan was simple. Pretend. Act. Get my father off my back so I can take over the business.” My jaw tightens. “But somewhere along the way, things got… messy.”
Dante leans against the porch railing, crossing his arms. “Messy how?”
I drag my hand through my hair, frustration bubbling in my chest. “Because I don’t know what’s real anymore.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “I don’t know if we’re still just playing our parts, or if—”
Dante doesn’t press me, but I know he’s waiting for me to say what I really mean.
I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “What do I do know?”
I swallow hard, my throat tightening. “When I told her I was falling in love with her…” I look Dante in the eye, no longer running from the truth. “I meant it.”
Dante watches me carefully. “Does she know that?”
I clench my jaw. “I don’t know.”
“You never talked about it?”
I laugh bitterly. “We never talk about it. I don’t know if she thinks it was just another line in our act.” I shake my head, my hands balling into fists. “But it wasn’t.”
I think about the way she looked at me tonight, not just when I proposed, but after. That hollow look in her eyes, the weight she carried, the way her fingers trembled.
I think about the way she leaned into me before she pulled away. The way she kissed me back, even though she knew she shouldn’t.
“Fuck.”
Dante smirks slightly. “Starting to connect the dots?”
I glare at him. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what the hell this is anymore. I don’t even know if this is fair to either of us.”
Dante exhales slowly, nodding. “That’s the first rational thing you’ve said all night.”
I shoot him an unimpressed look.
“Look, if you’re this fucked up about it, you need to talk to her.” He nods toward Layla, who’s still standing with Quinn, still forcing that same polite smile. “Because whatever this is? It’s eating you both alive.”
I press my lips together, considering his words.
Dante pats my shoulder. “You’ve always been a control freak, Valentino. Always five steps ahead, always making decisions based on logic, not emotion.” He pauses, then tilts his head. “Maybe it’s time you let yourself feel for once.”
I stare at him for a long moment, his words sinking deep into my chest.
For once, I don’t have a smartass remark. Because fuck, maybe he’s right.
I turn back toward Layla, my mind racing.
She needs to know.
Whether or not she feels the same. Whether or not we both made a mistake…
She needs to know that I wasn’t lying when I said I love her.
I make my way toward her, pushing through the crowd of guests still buzzing from tonight’s events.
I stop beside her. “Layla.”
She looks up at me, blinking, her lips parting slightly.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
But I see it now.
The same uncertainty. The same ache. The same fear of what comes next.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
Her lips press together. A flicker of hesitation. Then, finally, she nods.
She doesn’t take my arm when I offer it. She just walks ahead.
As we walk away from the crowd, I know deep down, everything is about to change.