Valentina
CHAPTER FIVE
I scramble to my feet so fast I nearly slip on the marble. "What?"
"Your mother. She's been permitted to visit for thirty minutes."
My hands shake as I unlock the door. Rosa stands there with that same calm expression, like kidnapping and forced marriages are normal. I guess it is for her. I run my fingers through my hair and fix my clothes so I don’t look how I feel. I’m sure my mother is worried enough.
"How do I look?" The question is automatic, residual vanity from a life that ended three hours ago.
Rosa's expression softens slightly. "Like a young woman who's had a difficult day."
"That's one way to put it."
She leads me through the maze of corridors. I try to memorize the route, left, right, past the marble staircase, another right, but honestly… everything looks the same. Expensive. Pristine. Prison-like.
We stop at a door, and Rosa squeezes my shoulder. "Thirty minutes. Elio will be right outside."
Then she opens the door, and there she is.
Mom.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, makeup smudged. When she sees me, a sob breaks from her throat.
"Valentina, honey."
I cross the room and throw my arms around her. She holds me so tight I can barely breathe, and I don't care. I bury my face in her shoulder and inhale the familiar scent of her perfume.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers into my hair. "I'm so, so sorry, honey."
"Mom, what's happening? Why is this happening?" My voice cracks.
"Why does he want to marry me?"
She pulls back, hands framing my face. Her thumbs wipe away tears I didn't realize were falling. "Sit down. Please. We need to talk."
The words send ice through my veins.
We sit on the couch, and Mom takes my hands in hers. They're cold. Trembling.
"There are things I never told you," she begins. "Things about my past. About who I was before I met your father."
"Mom."
"Please, listen."
"My name wasn't always Maria Marino. I was born Isabella Castellano." She stops, presses her hand to her mouth. "Wow, I've never said this out loud to anyone."
"My father, your grandfather, was Vincent Castellano. He was the consigliere to Giovanni Vitale, Salvatore's father. The most trusted advisor in the entire organization."
I stare at her, trying to process.
"I was born into this life of crime.” Her grip on my hands tightens. "When I was nineteen, my father arranged a marriage for me. To Giovanni Vitale himself."
“Who’s Giovanni Vitale?”
“Giovanni was Salvatore’s father.”
My stomach drops.
"They kept talking about how it was supposed to be the ultimate alliance. The Castellano family was going to be elevated to the inner circle forever. My father was so proud and eager to join the inner circle in that capacity. He was already so feared, so powerful, but he wanted more.” Her voice breaks.
"But I didn't want it. I didn't want to be married to a man twice my age who ruled through violence.
I wanted…" She pauses, eyes distant. "I wanted a normal life. "
"So you ran," I whisper, pieces clicking into place.
She nods. "I fell in love with one of Giovanni's guards.
Marco. Your father. He told me that he was in college to be a CPA and started working on their books.
He found a way to get me out of there and I took it.
We ran together. Changed our names. Spent decades hiding, moving from city to city whenever we thought they might find us. "
"You were always good at keeping secrets, but dad and I shared so much. We read together, traveled to discover books. I can’t believe Dad never told me." The betrayal cuts deep. All those years. All those moves. The lies about the military.
"He was protecting you. We both were." Tears stream down her face. "But my father… Vincent… Giovanni Vitale executed him. Shot him in front of the entire family because I didn't honor the arrangement."
"He killed your father because you wouldn't marry him?"
"Because the Castellanos failed to deliver on their promise. Because I chose love over duty. Because I ran." She's sobbing now. "And now you're paying for my choice. This is my fault, Valentina. All of it."
I pull my hands from hers, stand up, and pace across the room. My mind is racing, trying to reorganize everything I thought I knew about my parents, my life, my family.
"So this isn't about Dad's recent betrayal at all." The realization hits. "This is about you."
"The contract your father broke was the excuse Salvatore needed. But yes. This is about settling a forty-year-old debt. About finally collecting what Giovanni Vitale was promised."
I laugh, but it’s more shock than anything. "So I'm what? A replacement bride? Payment for a grandfather I never met because my mother abandoned her so-called duty?"
"You're Vincent Castellano's granddaughter. You're the debt made flesh." Mom stands, moves toward me. "But sweetheart, you don't have to do this. We can run. All of us. We can disappear again."
"And spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?" I shake my head. "What about Sofia? What kind of life is that for her?"
"At least she'd be free."
"Would she?" I turn to face my mother fully. "Mom, he threatened her. Threatened you. He said he'd dismantle our entire family tree if I didn't sign that contract. And I believe him."
Mom goes pale. "What?"
"He's not bluffing. This isn't a negotiation." I move to the window, look out at the manicured gardens. "I already signed the contract. It's done."
"No." She crosses to me, grabs my shoulders. "No, we can fight this.”
"How?" I think of Rosa's words about even the police not being able to help. "And if we try, it'll just make things worse for everyone."
"Valentina."
"Why didn't you tell me? All these years. All those moves. You could have explained. Could have prepared me for the possibility that this might catch up to us."
"Because I wanted you to have a normal childhood, a normal life. I wanted you to believe the world was good.” Her voice breaks. "I wanted to protect you from all of this."
"Well, you failed." The words are cruel, but I can't stop them. "I'm about to marry a mobster to pay off your debt. How's that for protection?"
Mom's face crumbles. She sinks back onto the chair, sobbing into her hands.
Guilt crashes through me immediately. I kneel in front of her, take her hands again.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did." She looks up at me with devastated eyes. "And you have every right to be angry with me."
"I'm not angry. I'm …" I search for the right word. "Overwhelmed. Terrified. Confused."
"I know, baby. I know." She pulls me into another hug. "But listen to me. The Vitale brothers are monsters. They’re extremely dangerous. And Salvatore, I spoke with him. He’s so much like his father. He’s calculating, patient, and ruthless."
"And I have to marry him anyway," I finish. "Unless you have a better plan?"
She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Run with me. Tonight. We'll get Sofia, and we'll disappear. I've done it before, I can do it again."
I think about the security cameras. The guards. The way Salvatore's eyes tracked every micro-expression on my face. The absolute certainty in his voice when he threatened my family.
"He'd find us." My voice drops to barely a whisper. "And when he did, it would be so much worse.”
“You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." I pull back and meet her eyes. "Mom, you ran from one Vitale. I'm not running from another. Not when it means putting you and Sofia in danger."
"So what are you going to do?"
What am I going to do? What a loaded question. What can I do? I feel like I’m suffocating but I have to keep it together for my mother. I can see how worried and terrified she is but I’m much stronger than she thinks. Either way, I’m going to do the only thing that I can do… at least right now.
"I guess I’m going to marry a monster."
“Honey?” she starts but I put a hand up. “I’ll be fine. I'm going to play the role he wants and find a way to protect our family."
I think of Catherine de' Medici again. Fourteen years old, forced into a marriage she didn't choose. "I'm not going to be a victim, Mom. If I have to do this, I'm going to do it on my terms."
Pride flickers across her face, mixed with heartbreak. "You sound like my father."
"Tell me about him." I sit back on the couch. "Tell me about Vincent Castellano. If I'm paying his debt, I should at least know who he was."
Mom takes a shaky breath, then begins.
She tells me about a brilliant strategist who could see three moves ahead. About a man who valued loyalty above everything else. About someone who taught her chess before she could read, who made her memorize poetry in Italian, who believed intelligence was the greatest weapon.
She tells me about his disappointment when she ran. About the phone call she received weeks later from a blocked number, her father's voice barely above a whisper: "I understand why you did it. But that doesn't change what happens next."
Three days later, he was dead.
“Honey, I ran because I knew what I was going to be. What he wanted. When he looked at me, there was nothing there. I didn’t even feel like a person around him.”
“All that to say?” I ask quietly.
“All that to say, when Salvatore talked about you, I saw something. He… he likes you. And under different circumstances, you’d probably like him too.”
Under different circumstances, I did like him. But telling my mother about his visit to the library won’t do anything but irritate me more so I don’t say anything.
“Unlike his father,” she continues, “he’s actually attractive, so that’s one point already.” We both manage a chuckle.
“Look at me mom, I’m so average. That man could’ve had a million models if he wanted to, I’m convenient, here to pay a debt.”