Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Luc set his play in motion with a privately delivered letter to the convent.
Now it was time to share the news with his family.
He stepped into the study. No one asked why he had called them for this meeting.
John sat near the window, flanked by his brother Antonio and two of Luc’s closest guards.
Antonio’s posture was taut, his dark brown eyes sharp and watchful.
Their mother sat by the fire, her gaze fixed, unreadable as ever.
The charcoal shawl draped around her shoulders did nothing to soften the steel in her bearing; her eyes, usually warm, were now cool and watchful.
Luc moved to his large oak desk, stood before it, but did not sit. “I’m marrying Mia Bonino.”
A slight gasp escaped his mother, and the room fell still.
“A Bonino?” Antonio straightened, his eyes narrowing. “That name’s been dead for years.”
“Time to resurrect it,” Luc said, flicking a gaze to his mother, who was looking at him with a thoughtful expression.
“You do realize how that sounds.” Antonio leaned forward, arms on his knees. “That family’s barely treading water. Why would you form an alliance with them?”
“Our father arranged it. I’m following through because I have seen the benefit.”
His brother nodded. “I see. That means there is a chance to take their territory?”
“Yes.”
“Will the family let you?”
“I won't give them a choice. They will yield or die.”
Ettore Bonino had once ruled a wide slice of the city—territory only a Bonino had ever managed to tame. Cops looked the other way. Rivals vanished. The Commission tolerated his independence because no one else could keep that sector quiet.
Antonio frowned. “Why hasn’t the family used her to strengthen their power?”
Luc gave a humorless chuckle. “Ettore hid her away, raised her in a convent. If the rest of her family knew where she was, she would have long since been controlled to suit their purposes.”
“You’ve met her?” his mother asked, her voice low and contemplative.
“No.”
His mother’s eyes widened. “You have no idea if she will agree to the marriage?”
“What she wants does not matter,” he said.
A flicker of disapproval crossed his mother’s face, quickly masked. Her fingers tightened on the shawl. “So, you’ll take her even if she objects? There is not much freedom in being a wife in this life. What happens when she realizes she’s a prisoner?”
Luc’s voice dropped. “Then she’ll learn what a gilded cage looks like and learn to appreciate it.”
“She might not last here,” she warned.
“She’ll learn.”
There was cold disapproval in his mother’s gaze, but she made no further objections.
Antonio exhaled slowly. “So, it’s done.”
“It’s done,” Luc said. “We’ll announce it quietly and have the ceremony in two weeks. Small, just enough to be seen.”
“And Isabella?” Antonio asked, lifting a brow.
Luc didn’t flinch. “Handled.” It wasn’t. But it would be.
Antonio snorted. “Isabella’s eaten men alive for less. Everyone knows she wants to be your wife. You really think she’ll step aside for some convent mouse?”
Luc’s voice stayed flat. “She will.”
His mother delicately cleared her throat. “I believe some wooing from you would go a long way in making her more comfortable,” his mother said, pinning him with a hard stare.
Surprise lanced through Luc. “Wooing?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t a romance,” he said, dryly amused at his mother’s suggestion.
“No,” John said. “We all know it’s a strategy. Let’s just hope this piece doesn’t start thinking it’s a player.”
Luc’s voice sharpened. “She won’t.”
John’s smile faded. “You saw the photo. She is… stunning. Any man can lose a bit of himself over a woman like that.”
A chilling indifference filled Luc. “Do not be foolish. I would put a bullet in her before I let any woman control me.”
“Good,” John murmured.
Luc assessed them. “I need everyone to be clear. No leaks until I am ready. This marriage happens, and the decision is final.”
His mother rose slowly and deliberately. “Then I’ll prepare the guest list.”
Luc nodded once. “Keep it thin. This isn’t a spectacle.”
She paused at the door. “Everything’s a spectacle, Luc. Whether you intend it to be or not.” The door clicked shut behind her.
Antonio stepped closer. “What now?”
Luc didn’t hesitate. “We take the bride.”
The gates creaked. From the high library window, she watched gravel stir under thick, black tires.
The SUV moved slowly, deliberately. Power didn’t hurry.
It didn’t knock either. It just entered.
She’d known this was coming from the moment she got the letter, her father’s signature at the bottom like a command from a ghost.
Below, the nuns pulled curtains tight, murmured prayers too soft to matter.
Somewhere, a door opened and then closed.
Footsteps followed—heavier than any sister’s.
Sister Therese had told her to wait here and pray.
So, Mia did. Not for mercy, she wasn’t na?ve enough for that—but for sense, for the strength to stand when the door opened.
She counted the steps as they echoed down the stone hallway, drawing closer to the small room where she waited.
Three sets. One heavy and calm, almost lazy.
The door opened. Mia felt him first, an interruption in the air itself.
A shadow that belonged here no more than a wolf belonged in a chapel.
She didn’t turn until the door closed behind them.
When she looked, her throat dried. He wasn’t what she’d pictured.
She had imagined someone older, maybe softer.
Instead, he was unsettlingly handsome, with a curve to his mouth that hinted at a cold, arrogant, and ruthless man.
He looked too solid for this old room: broad shoulders filling out an expensive suit, dark hair, and even dark, gray-blue eyes that pinned her in place like silk on a needle.
She rose, hands clasped so he wouldn’t see them shake.
“Mr. Valachi, I presume,” Mia said, thankful her voice was steady.
His mouth barely hitched into a smile, his gaze piercing and uncomfortable. He didn’t introduce himself.
Sister Therese lingered by the door, knuckles bone-white around her rosary. “Mr. Valachi wishes to speak with you, Mia. Alone.”
Mia’s eyes darted from the nun to the two men behind him—grim, silent walls of muscle. She forced her tone to be calm. “Is this necessary, sir?”
Mr. Valachi’s eyes flicked to Sister Therese. “Outside.”
The sister wavered, her look begging Be strong. Then she obeyed, closing the door behind her. Silence swallowed the small office.
They studied each other—him, seeming to be faintly entertained by her backbone; her, trembling inside but refusing to show it.
He broke the silence, voice deep and deceptively mild. “When did you last hear from your father?”
Mia lifted her chin. “I have not seen my father in years, Mr. Valachi. I have no knowledge of his whereabouts. What is the reason for asking me about him?”
A humorless flicker of a smile. “Years ago, your father made a deal with mine. He offered you in a marriage alliance, hoping to shield you from his enemies. Since my father owed him a blood debt, he agreed to this alliance between our families.”
Her stomach flipped. “What enemies?” Mia held up a hand and took a deep breath before saying, “No, I do not care. I have been safe here in the convent and need no protection from you, sir. You will have to find my father and discuss—”
“Several years ago, your father turned witness for the Feds. He testified against Greco, a don. He was killed for that.” Mr. Valachi’s voice was steady, almost elegant in its cruelty.
Mia jerked as if struck, a tight ache squeezing her heart. “My father is dead?”
“Yes.” Valachi’s expression didn’t shift—no softness, no sympathy, only the same cold indifference as if he were discussing the weather.
She swallowed hard, her throat burning. If that was true, then how had her father arranged for her to receive the letter now?
In all the years since she had last heard from her father, Mia had never imagined that death was the reason for his absence.
A sharp, unexpected pain tore through her chest, and she curled her hands into tight fists, struggling to contain the storm of emotion battering her from within.
“I see,” Mia said hoarsely. “I did not realize he was… gone.”
Something dark and unknowable flickered in Valachi’s gaze—a glint that sent a chill through her veins. It was almost unbearable to withstand the weight of his stare, but Mia forced herself to lift her chin and meet it head-on, refusing to look away.
“When he decided to work with the Feds, your father understood the cost for his family, so he hid you here. He knew that once you stepped outside these walls, you would be nothing more than a lamb in a world of wolves—torn apart before anyone could save you.”
Mia stared at him, hating the slow fear winding through her chest.
“As my wife, no one would dare breathe in your direction. If they do, I will kill them.”
Mia flinched. He said it with such ruthless assurance that her heart pounded harder. How did anyone speak so casually about murdering people? She was more certain than ever that this man was far too dangerous to even know as an acquaintance.
“I have no plans to leave the convent,” she said hoarsely. “Such precautions were unnecessary on my father’s part. I release you from any perceived obligations, Mr. Valachi.”
There was a look in his eyes she could not interpret, and it terrified her. Worse, a small smile hitched the corner of his mouth.
“Unfortunately, the dowry your father offered gives you no choice.”
She shook her head, furious at the quake in her voice. “My father’s dead. It’s over. I have nothing to do with this or you, sir. Please respect my boundaries and decisions.”
A low, humorless laugh came from him, and it baffled Mia that a weird and unknown sensation fluttered low in her belly.