Chapter 2 #2
“The contract between our fathers stands. And now…” He stepped closer, so near she could see the cold calculation in his eyes. “You belong to me.”
She blinked once. Twice. Then Mia laughed, a soft, shocked sound that made the man before her smile, just a flash of white teeth, cruelly handsome.
“You cannot be serious?” The words slipped out breathlessly, betraying the terror that had her chest tightening, her pulse drumming painfully in her ears.
Mia hated how frail she sounded, hated that he could hear her fear when every part of her wanted to stand unbroken.
“I belong only to myself, sir, and I will not marry you.”
“Oh?”
The mocking cruelty in his voice was overwhelming.
Panic swelled, sharp and suffocating, as the life she’d built in the convent unraveled—her steady routines, her purpose with the children, the fragile dream of teaching, of one day building a family on her own terms. All of it dangled above a fire, and this man, with his cold certainty, was holding the strings.
But beneath the fear, anger burned. She was not a puppet, not a marionette for men to jerk around as if her existence was theirs to command.
Did he think he could rip her world apart so casually, with the stroke of a deal struck years ago?
Her terror tangled with fury, and her voice, though shaking, carried defiance when she snapped, “I do not agree, and I never will.”
He took a step closer. She retreated until her back met the desk. Nowhere to go.
“I’m always serious, Miss Bonino. You are mine. Now it’s time you came home.”
“Home?” Her voice cracked. “This is my home. I have duties. Students. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you and—”
He lifted a hand. Not to strike her, but to touch—fingers stroking a strand of her hair, testing its softness as though weighing silk.
Her awareness sharpened with a startling clarity: how close he stood, the heat of his body brushing the air between them, the clean, masculine scent that curled into her senses.
She saw the hard cut of his jaw, the dark intensity of his eyes, the strength coiled in him that nothing in her life had ever prepared her for.
It should have disgusted her, this intrusion, this almost sensual gesture from a man she had every reason to despise. Distressingly, it did not. Instead, something low and unfamiliar twisted inside her, a pull she could neither name nor fight.
Their gazes locked, and his burned with the same awareness tightening in her belly. Mia’s heart lurched into a wild, uneven race.
That glimmer of a smile curved his mouth again as he murmured, low and intimate, “You’ll learn to want what you’re given.”
Heat flooded her face. She slapped his hand away, the sting biting into her palm.
His men shifted at the movement, but he lifted a single finger and they froze.
The casual command of it, the way power seemed to ripple from him with nothing more than a gesture, made her tremble with something she refused to name.
She forced her spine straighter, desperate to mask the riot inside her. “Mr. Valachi, I—”
“Luc,” he drawled, provocation lacing his words and gleaming in his eyes. “We will be wed soon. Formalities are unnecessary between us, Mia.”
She jutted her chin. “I won’t go, and I will not marry you. I belong here. If you try to force me—”
He stepped in fully, close enough she could feel the heat of him through her blouse, the scent of expensive cologne and something darker beneath. She hated that her pulse jumped at it.
“I don’t need to force you,” he said quietly. “I only have to remove what keeps you here. This building, your sisters, your precious students. Do you understand me, little dove?”
She went still, the full weight of his meaning sinking into her. “You… you would harm them?”
“Of course,” he drawled, as if they were speaking about something casual.
A tear rose hot behind her eyelid. Mia swallowed it down. “You’re a monster.”
“Maybe.” He leaned so close she felt his breath against her ear, warm and dangerous. “But I am your monster now; be glad for that.”
“Arrogant and unfeeling,” she snapped.
He turned his head, and his lips brushed her cheek. Heat flared through her—weak, shameful, impossible to name. Every instinct screamed to shove him away, and still she stood rooted, trapped between revulsion and an answering ache she did not want.
“If you want a demonstration, I’ll fetch the sister back in and break her neck. Do you understand me, little dove?”
Shock froze Mia for a long, hollow second; then her breath caught, and the room narrowed to the shape of his face.
He had called her dove—not as some foolish endearment, but as a reminder that she was prey to be taken, and he the hunter.
Patient, certain, cruel, and callous. The awareness of it lanced through her, stinging with humiliation, yet something deeper shivered awake inside her.
Mia’s skin prickled as though he had branded her with it, the sound of his voice wrapping around her in a way she despised but could not ignore.
It terrified her how easily he could strip her of dignity with a single word, and worse still, how a part of her—betraying her utterly—thrummed with a dangerous awareness of him.
“Yes,” she said, voice rough and small. “You… you will hurt them if I do not comply.”
He shifted away from her, and before she could flinch away, he pressed a phone into her palm. It was sleek, new, and already warm from his pocket.
“Keep this on you. Answer whenever I call. Someone will come for you soon.”
Mia didn’t take it. He closed her fingers around it himself. His skin was rougher than she expected. Warmer too. Then he stepped back, like he’d just concluded a polite meeting. One of his men opened the door. Sister Therese rushed to her side, scolding him in whispered Latin he ignored completely.
Valachi paused at the threshold, looking back at her.
His eyes flicked to her mouth, lingered a heartbeat too long.
Then he left. Mia stood frozen, the phone biting into her palm, the saints in the stained glass staring down with painted mercy.
She prayed they were still listening. Because she knew now—no one else would.
The echo of Valachi’s footsteps faded down the hall. Only then did Mia’s knees give out. She sank into the old armchair behind the desk, the phone he’d forced on her still clutched tight, her heart hammering.
Oh God, what do I do now?
Sister Therese closed the door softly, locked it, and knelt at her side. The nun’s warm, dry hands cupped Mia’s trembling ones. Outside, she heard Valachi’s car start and roll away, its engine fading into the distance. If only it were gone for good.
“Oh, my sweet girl.” She brushed Mia’s hair from her damp cheek. “I am so sorry. I prayed that people from your past would never come.”
Mia tried to speak, but no sound came. Instead, the nun pressed something heavy into her lap—a thick envelope, worn at the corners.
“Your father left this with Mother Eliza the day he brought you here.” Her voice cracked. “She was to keep it until you were older. No time ever felt like the right time. Based on today, we think it’s time we gave it to you.”
Mia looked at the envelope. Her father’s neat hand on the front: To my daughter, Mia Bonino.
She tore the flap. Inside: a folded letter, yellowed a little with time; a small velvet pouch; a brass key wrapped in paper. She unfolded the letter first. The words blurred before she even read the first line.
My dearest Mia,
If you are reading this, then the time has come for you to know the truth I could never tell you in person or in the letter you should have already received.
Though many years have passed since I last held you, I still remember the curious, willful child you were.
I can only imagine the anger and disappointment you must have felt upon learning of the contract I made, binding you to another man in marriage.
When I brought you to St. Mary’s, it was not because I wanted to leave you, but because I could no longer protect you myself. I owed debts that could never be repaid—except with you. I left you there to keep you alive, untouched, and safe until the day came when that debt would be called upon.
Know this: I did not abandon you without any power of your own.
Inside my watch lies what remains of our leverage—information that secured our final bargaining chip.
Beneath the watch face, you will find a hidden compartment.
What rests inside now belongs to you. Guard it well.
The names, accounts, and secrets contained within will give you bargaining power in a world that respects only such things.
But be warned—others would kill to possess it.
Keep its existence secret. When the time is right, use it to buy your freedom or your future.
Enclosed with this letter is a key. It will open a safety deposit box at the parish bank near St. Mary’s. Inside is enough money to give you comfort, should you ever find a way to live apart from this life.
I pray you will not curse my name, though I would understand if you did. You were never a burden, my Mia—you were my last hope that something pure and good might survive me.
Forgive me, if you can.
Be braver than I was.
Your father,
Ettore Bonino
Mia read it twice. Each word stabbed deeper than the last. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm, her breath shaky. “The watch,” she whispered. “Where is it?”
Sister Therese opened the velvet pouch. Inside lay a gold timepiece, small enough to hide in a pocket, its engraving worn soft by years of touch.
Mia touched it with shaking fingers. My father’s secrets.
“Take it, child. And the key too.”
Mia stared at the watch resting in her palm, cold and precious. Sister Therese wrapped her in thin arms, pressing her close. She smelled of soap and old books, and for one aching moment, Mia was a child again, safe behind St. Mary’s stone walls.
“I don’t want to go,” she choked against the habit’s scratchy fabric. “He says I belong to him.”
“Do you want to belong to him?” Sister Therese asked.
“No,” Mia burst out. “How could I? He belongs to a dark and violent world. I want the life I planned for myself! I want to be a teacher, marry a man I love, and have children. Not this life he and my father decided for me!”
“Then leave and go where he may never find you,” Sister Therese said fervently.
A hard knot formed in Mia’s throat. “I cannot. He said he would hurt you and everyone—”
“God is our shield,” Sister Therese said firmly. “I am certain it was only a threat to bend you to his will. You were never a child who bent to others, so I urge you to think only of yourself as you decide.”
Pain thrummed inside Mia’s chest. “I don’t want to leave here… leave you… and my students…”
“I know, my dear. But if you must, go strong. Go wise. And remember, you are more than what they bargain for.”
Mia clutched the watch and the letter to her chest. She closed her eyes and prayed one last time that God might still be listening.
But beneath the prayer lingered something she hated—the sound of his voice calling her little dove, the brush of his lips against her skin.
It terrified her how a man who was undoubtedly a monster could unsettle her so deeply…
and worse, how part of her feared she would never forget it.
I must leave and never look back, so he will never find me.