Chapter 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.
“What, the marriage or the dinner party?” I mutter.
He gives me a devilish smirk. “The more you test me, the longer the wedding night.”
A lump forms in my throat. I’ve been pushing that thought away for a while. There’s no use postponing it any longer, and it bothers the hell out of me, because I’m supposed to dread our wedding night. Yet I spent an awful lot of time picking out the perfect lingerie, aware that Luca will see it.
Touch it.
Peel it off my body.
“Well done, Luca,” Carmine Caruso says with a laugh when he reaches us.
“Thank you, Carmine,” Luca replies with a wry smile, shaking his hand.
Carmine’s smile is cool. “Congratulations, Mrs. Petrucci. There’s no better family to be a part of, given your roots.”
“Thank you.”
“How’s the old man taking it?” he asks me, then glances back at the other guests. “I don’t see him around. Didn’t he get the invite?”
“Caroline came on his behalf,” Luca replies. “I’m afraid Mr. Mancuso was slightly indisposed.”
“Indisposed, my ass,” Johnny Mancini cuts in to shake my husband’s hand before he gives me a nod of genuine appreciation. “You’re much better off as Petrucci, ma’am, trust me.”
“You’ll get no argument on my part,” I say and smile softly, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow me whole.
I keep stealing glances at Susie and Michael, finding comfort in their gentle smiles while Luca entertains Carmine and Johnny.
“And how is Miss Mancuso taking the whole thing?” Carmine asks.
“As you can see, Caroline has given us her full support,” Luca replies.
Johnny doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “I don’t know. I’d be careful, if I were you, Luca. The Mancusos are notorious for complex vengeance schemes. You, of all people, would know a little something about that, eh?”
I catch the double meaning. The subtlety that isn’t so subtle. I feel the sting of his words as Johnny carefully analyzes Luca’s face, expecting a more volatile reaction. But my husband, the ever-discerning boss, simply responds with a cool smile.
“You know me, Johnny. I have backup plans for my backup plans. Always.”
This is the life, isn’t it?
My mother warned me about it long before she passed away. I saw it with my own eyes. Experienced it while growing up in the Mancuso family. Ran from it and managed to stay away from it for two whole years before Luca showed up. I was almost out of the life. Or maybe I was just fooling myself.
Maybe it was always going to end this way.
Caroline steps close to offer her congratulations. It’s awkward at first. Tense. But she smiles and congratulates us, then gently takes me aside and gives me a hug—the kind of hug I didn’t even know I needed, until her arms wrap around. I welcome the familiarity of the only sister I’ve ever had.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, hopefully out of Luca’s earshot.
He’s busy smiling and entertaining the other guests. Victor stays close to Susie and Michael. Eddie and the other security guards do their rounds, keeping the party safe.
Caroline looks confused when she pulls back. “What are you saying sorry for, Valentina?”
“For how everything turned out. I’m sorry I ruined everything.”
“Oh, no,” she shakes her head slowly. “You got caught in the middle. I get it now. You never asked for any of this.”
“I didn’t. But I’m still sorry.”
She squeezes my hands in hers. “Valentina. All’s well that ends well. We’ll still have a merger between the Petrucci and the Mancuso syndicates eventually. It’s a forced manner of imposing peace, but if it works, why ruin it, right?”
“You’re not angry?”
“Frankly, I’m just happy to know you and my nephew are safe. Besides, Luca’s a great catch.” She laughs lightly, yet I still sense the hint of sadness in her tone as she turns her head. “Isn’t he?”
I follow her gaze. By most descriptors, Luca Petrucci is a dream. Aging like a fine wine, powerful and determined, ambitious and ruthless at the head of a dangerous Camorra family. Successful, handsome, impossible to say no to. I can see why most women would fawn over him, including Caroline.
But given the circumstances of our union, I refuse to acknowledge any of the good parts, so I grunt softly. “He’s a monster,” I say with a low voice. “They’re all monsters, Caroline.”
“We’re born from monsters,” she replies. “What does that make us?”
“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it.”
“Well, you got it,” she says. “Accept it. Or it will eat you up on the inside. This is it. You’re Mrs. Petrucci now. Protected. A queen with a throne of her own. You’re not the chubby misfit Peroni girl nobody knew where to put.”
I stare at her in disbelief. The words slipped out with such ease that I cannot ignore the malice hidden beneath. Caroline notices my dismay and laughs lightly.
“Oh, come on. Everybody knows you’re not exactly a powerful man’s first choice for marriage. It’s why Stefano treated you the way he did.”
“Caroline, if you ever want to see Michael or a merger deal signed with the Petrucci syndicate in this lifetime, I suggest you apologize to my wife immediately.”
Luca’s voice cuts through the background noise. It’s loud and deep, like an axe cutting into a tree trunk. He stands beside us, and I didn’t even hear him coming. My blood rushes as I look at him, then at my flustered stepsister, before I realize the entire wedding party heard our exchange.
“Luca…”
“My wife is my queen,” he says, louder still.
His hand slips around and locks onto my waist, pulling me close.
I find odd comfort in his presence while simultaneously pushing away memories of my teenage years.
This isn’t the first jab Caroline has delivered regarding my figure.
“Her curves are perfect, precisely the way a woman should be. She gave my family a child, and as of today, she bears my name and my ring.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“But you did,” Luca says, interrupting Caroline. “And it’s the mark of a weak woman. Of a jealous and bitter woman. It’s not a good look on you, Caroline. Show some grace.”
She lowers her gaze, and I see the muscle twitching furiously in her jaw. Her cheeks are almost as red as her dress, which hugs her bony figure as she struggles to breathe in my husband’s intense presence.
“Forgive me, Valentina,” she says with a trembling voice, then gives Luca a weak smile. “It was just sisterly talk, but I forgot she’s not just my sister anymore. She’s also your wife.”
Luca doesn’t need to say anything else. Caroline knows it’s time for her to make a graceful exit to avoid further humiliation. So she steps closer and plants a kiss on my cheek, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Be very careful,” she whispers in my ear. “If you lie with monsters, you become one.”
She steps back and slowly makes a quiet exit through the terrace doors leading inside the house. Soon, Caroline will be back at the Mancuso mansion, licking her wounds.
Luca keeps me close. “You look beautiful,” he says.
It sounds genuine. It feels honest. But I’m supposed to be angry, unwilling, petulant as I should be, so I reply with a scoff.
Later, the remainder of the wedding party gathers around the gift table, where a pile of boxes wrapped in shimmering paper and tied with elegant bows awaits.
Michael is already upstairs in my room, with Susie looking after him.
It’s late, and my boy needs his full sleep.
In the meantime, I grow increasingly anxious knowing that I’m spending the night in Luca’s bedroom.
Our bedroom now.
But until then, I can distract myself with more champagne and wedding presents. My one silver lining for tonight.
“I see the Camorra has been as generous as always,” Luca comments upon opening one of the boxes to reveal a gorgeous set of wine, champagne, and whiskey glasses. “Thank you, Johnny.”
“It’s my pleasure. I had it delivered directly from the Venice workshop, mind you,” Johnny replies.
“Venice Beach?” Carmine asks, looking somewhat confused.
Johnny shakes his head. “No, Venice, Italy. What the hell, man? That’s classic, original Murano glass!”
“They’re truly superb,” I tell the Mancini boss. “Thank you so much.”
Victor frowns slightly, staring at another box. It looks different from the rest—smaller, wrapped in white paper and tied up with a blood-red bow. It stands out, indeed.
“What is it, Victor?” I ask.
He reaches for the box and checks its tag. “It’s from Mauro Mancuso.”
“Didn’t you vet all the presents before bringing them to the table?” Luca replies, suddenly stiff beside me.
“I did. This wasn’t with the rest of them,” Victor mutters. “Caroline came in with a box of her own… that one, with blue,” he adds, pointing at another gift and checking that tag again to confirm. “Yes, Caroline Mancuso. But I didn’t see this one come in.”
“Then we have a security breach,” Luca says, his gaze hardening as he approaches the table with careful, controlled steps.
“Or Caroline dropped it on her way out,” I suggest. “Whatever it is, my stepfather wouldn’t risk hurting Caroline or Michael. Maybe he doesn’t care as much for me, but I know he’d never hurt his own daughter.”
Victor nods in agreement. “Fair enough. But we should still be careful.”
After some checking and turning the box over a few times, and after Eddie waves the metal detector over it a few times with no concerning beeps, Luca finally opens the box while the wedding party watches with wide eyes.
“What is it?” I ask when the tension becomes downright unbearable.
Luca stills as he removes the lid. Unable to look away.
His lips part, and I can almost feel the breath leaving his body.
My pulse quickens as I step closer and peek inside.
Photographs. Lots of photographs—all depicting bloody, gruesome angles from the same scene.
I see the name of the nightclub, and it resonates with a memory of mine, of me reading about the explosion that killed Stefano.
I was still in Calumet City at the time, hiding and fooling myself into believing I was safe.
That I’d never be found.
“My God, the audacity of this guy is out of this fucking world,” Carmine exclaims as he takes one of the photos to get a closer look.
Victor exhales sharply as he analyzes a photo of carbonized remains with a close-up detail of a gold-plated wristwatch. “This was Stefano. The bomb went off with him inside the club.”
“It’s a message from Mancuso,” Luca mutters. “He made sure to write it on the back, too, in case I didn’t get it at first glance.
“What? Oh…” Victor gasps and turns the photo over to read the message scrawled across in black ink. “The Petrucci bloodline is cursed, and each of them will pay. This isn’t over.”
“This isn’t over,” I whisper, dread washing over me like an icy wave.
My knees weaken as I realize this isn’t over at all.
Part of me may have believed that once Luca and I tied the knot, my stepfather would back off, but clearly, that’s not his plan.
I can’t even think about what Caroline might have to say about this.
Did she know what was in the box? Is she the one who dropped it?
Or did my stepfather pay someone to sneak it in?
These are all questions darting across the gift table from one man to another, while I’m shivering and fearing what the future may hold.
“This isn’t over,” I say it again, louder this time for Luca to hear me.
He frowns at me. “He’s just trying to mess with our heads, Valentina.”
“If this is your way of reassuring me, it’s not working,” I reply.
Victor shakes his head. “The words of an angry old man,” he says. “Mancuso knows he can’t do anything else about this. It’s his last hurrah before the sun sets. His way of ruining the wedding because it’s literally the only thing he can do.”
“I hope it’s obvious at this point that no Mancuso will come anywhere near Michael in their lifetime,” Luca says.
“A fair enough response,” Victor replies. “For a fool who’s lashing out.”
Maybe he believes that.
Maybe Luca believes it, too.
But I have a hard time stomaching any of this. It was a difficult affair to begin with. Having my own stepfather’s threatening words hanging over my head only makes everything worse.
“Hell of a wedding night,” I whisper, mostly to myself.