Valentina #2
“No, Salvatore wants you to be his wife, because he wants you. Trust me, if he didn’t, he would’ve killed your father and ended this.
But he didn’t, he’s using the debt to justify his actions.
He’s powerful, but he’s a man. A man who saw a gorgeous, smart, incredible young woman, and unlike a normal man who would ask you out or court you, he went extreme. ”
"Tell me about it." I roll my eyes.
"Honey, he is a powerful man, but so are you. You’re a smart woman. Be careful, but do not give away your power. He promised he won’t hurt you.”
“And?” I ask, unsure what she’ll say.
“And, I believe him. Don’t go looking for trouble but don’t give up your power. In the meantime, your father and I will do everything to get you out of this mess.”
I shake my head, “Mom, he told me that dad ran.” “Valentina, listen to me. Your father loves you girls more than anything in this world, so if he had to exile himself for the best outcome, that’s what he would do, but you know your dad.”
“Do I? Are you referring to the professor or the man who works for the freaking mafia? I’m not sure which Marco you’re referring to.” I’m louder than I want to be, but I have no idea how to control these emotions. This is so overwhelming.
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door.
"Time's up," Elio's voice calls through.
Mom grabs my hands one more time. "If you need anything. Anything at all. You call me. I don't care what they say."
"Ok." I squeeze her hands. "Take care of Sofia. Make sure she stays in school. Don't let her come here."
"I love you." She kisses my forehead. "I love you so much, baby."
"I know mom. I love you too."
The door opens. Elio stands there, patient and watchful.
Mom stands slowly, reluctantly. At the doorway, she turns back one more time.
"Your grandfather had a saying," she says softly. "La pazienza è la virtù dei forti. Patience is the virtue of the strong." She pauses. "Be patient, Valentina. Be strong. And when you see your moment,” she turns to look at Elio who’s pretending he doesn’t hear everything. “take it," she finishes.
Then she's gone. Elio walks her out, Rosa takes me back to my room and I feel alone again.
I explore the suite properly this time. The closet is enormous and already partially filled with clothes. Designer labels I recognize from magazines. Dresses, slacks, blouses, all in my size. There are shoes organized by heel height. Jewelry in velvet boxes. Lingerie that makes me blush.
He's already claiming me. Already dressing me like a doll for his collection.
The bathroom has every luxury imaginable. A rain shower. A soaking tub. Expensive products arranged with hotel-like precision. Fluffy towels monogrammed with an ornate "V" that could stand for Vitale or Valentina or both.
The desk has the computer Elio mentioned, plus notebooks, pens, and even books. I check the titles: art history, Italian Renaissance, medieval literature. Someone did their homework. These are all subjects I love.
It's unsettling how well they know me. I think about what my mother said about him liking me, but why would a man like that go through all this trouble because he likes simple me?
He could have anyone. He wants to clear this debt, and I get to help him do it, so no need to think more into it.
The goal is to survive and eventually… escape.
Dinner arrives on a cart wheeled in by a gorgeous young woman in a very tight uniform. She sets everything up on the small dining table near the windows without making eye contact.
"Is there anything else you need, miss?" she asks quietly.
"Maybe a way out?" I try to lighten the mood, but she doesn't engage. If I’m not mistake it seems she rolled her eyes. "Tough crowd."
"No. Thank you."
She leaves quickly, and I'm alone with enough food to feed three people. Pasta carbonara. Roasted vegetables. Fresh bread. Tiramisu for dessert.
It smells amazing, but I can barely eat. My stomach is in knots.
I pick at the pasta, force down a few bites. Think about the conversation with my mother.
Vincent Castellano. My grandfather. A man I never knew but whose choices are now dictating my life.
And Isabella Castellano. My mother. So gracious, and kind, and perfect living a lie all these years.
I always thought my parents were boring. A literature professor and a homemaker. Quiet, unremarkable people living a quiet, unremarkable life.
Turns out they were fugitives. Running from a debt that was always going to come due eventually.
And now I'm the payment.
I push the food away and move to the window. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The estate grounds are beautiful in the fading light. Perfectly manicured gardens. A fountain in the center. Paths winding through flower beds.
It's like something out of a fairy tale.
Except in this version, the princess doesn't get rescued. She gets claimed.
My phone buzzes. I grab it immediately, hoping for my father. Instead, it's an unknown number.
Tomorrow at 10am. Shopping for the wedding. Rosa will accompany you. - SV
Short. Direct. No room for negotiation.
I stare at the message for a long moment. There is so much I want to say. I have questions. I’m angry, I’m scared and this asshole is texting me about a wedding dress for a wedding I don’t even want to be a part of. Ugh… what should I say?
I begin typing… Understood. Then I delete.
Then I type: Can we talk about this?
And delete it.
Finally, I give up trying to think and analyze and just send the first thing that comes to mind, the middle finger emoji.
Me: ??
His response is immediate.
Bad girl.
The words send an unwanted flush of heat through me, sharp and humiliating. I hate that my body responds to him. Hate that some traitorous part of me reacts to his dominance like it’s something to crave instead of fear.
I wish he were less attractive. Then my mind wouldn’t be playing tricks on me. It would be simple. Clean. I don’t want this. I don’t want him. I want my freedom back, period.
Instead… instead my pulse betrays me. My breath goes shallow. And beneath the anger, beneath the defiance, there’s awareness.
Of him.
Of myself.
Of the dangerous truth that part of me isn’t fighting to escape him, it’s fighting not to lean in.