Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
She finally surrendered to exhaustion during the flight, her body folding into sleep even as adrenaline coiled tight beneath her ribs.
The last thing she remembered was pushing food around her plate, the rich scent of truffle pasta turning her stomach, and the heated taste of Luc’s kisses lingering on her mouth.
She had promised him a year, a child he would one day take from her side.
He did not know her resolve or anything about her.
Mia would learn to live this life, hoard all the money that came her way, and when she could, she would take her child and vanish to a place where he could never find them.
She would rather die than hand her son or daughter over to merciless men who would groom them to be a mafia don.
Mia jolted awake when the plane lurched. For a heartbeat, she forgot where she was—until the smooth leather, the low hum of engines, and his presence reminded her.
His hand settled on her shoulder, thumb pressing into the hollow of her collarbone. The pressure turned sharp when she tried to recoil, a silent promise of bruises if she pulled away again. Her spine locked rigid under his touch.
“Time to go,” Luc murmured.
Dread pooled low in her belly, but she forced her legs to hold steady as he guided her out.
It’s just a new place; there is no need to fear, Mia, she silently reminded herself.
The private Hamptons’ airstrip hit her with sharp Atlantic wind. Salt and fresh grass tangled in the breeze, but any illusion of freedom died at the edge of the runway, where guards flanked sleek black SUVs, boots shining, radios crackling low. How powerful was he?
She slid into the back of one of the vehicles, the door clicking shut behind her.
The engine purred, and they moved onto winding lanes, the estate hidden behind dark hedges and ancient trees.
Every turn tightened the cage around her; even the faint glint of the Atlantic beyond the trees did nothing to ease it.
The drive took longer than she expected, stretching her nerves with every silent mile.
At last, the estate rose beyond manicured lawns: glass and stone, ivy softening hard angles. It was stunningly beautiful.
“Welcome home,” Luc said, palm resting at her lower back.
On the wide front porch, three people waited. An older woman, a young woman of about her age, and a man who resembled a younger version of Luc. They arrived, and he began introducing his family.
His mother, Rosina Valachi, stood with quiet authority.
She was a striking woman, her midnight-dark hair still thick and lustrous despite the faint silver threads glinting at her temples.
Her features were strong yet elegant, and those intense gray-blue eyes—storm-colored, sharp, and unflinching—were the same as her son’s.
His cousin, Gabriella, was stunning in her vivacity.
Her golden-brown eyes brimmed with curiosity, reflecting warmth and mischief in equal measure, while her ready smile made her instantly welcoming.
His brother, Antonio, carried a resemblance to Luc so striking it was almost uncanny—the same chiseled jaw, the same proud stance, but where Luc’s eyes burned with that icy gray-blue, Antonio’s were a deep brown that softened his otherwise formidable presence.
There was also a subtle charm in his expression, less guarded than his brother’s.
Mrs. Valachi hugged Luc first, thumb brushing his cheek, her quiet laugh softening him for a blink before he turned back to stone. Then Mrs. Valachi’s eyes found Mia. She was warm, unguarded, heartbreakingly sincere. “Welcome to the family, Mia. We are happy you are to marry Luc.”
“Thank you.” Mia’s heart jolted when Mrs. Valachi stepped close, caught Mia’s trembling hands in her own, her skin soft and faintly scented of lavender soap. The cardigan sleeve slipped back, revealing faded ink that traced her wrist, a half-hidden mafia crest woven into delicate flowers.
“It is lovely to meet you,” Mia politely murmured.
“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Valachi murmured. “You must be so tired. I’ve put you in the garden suite. It receives a lot of sun and has an ocean breeze. You’ll sleep better there.” She brushed a loose curl from Mia’s temple, motherly, natural.
Mia stiffened, braced for cruelty behind the sweetness but found only kindness.
As they walked the stone path, Mrs. Valachi’s arm curved around her shoulders, warm and steady.
Mia wanted to flinch away, but couldn’t.
The tenderness stung deeper than a slap.
She had forgotten the simple ache of being held without demand.
She felt unguarded and almost vulnerable.
A thing she could never be around this family.
And still, her ribs curved in, greedy for the closeness his mother offered.
Gabriella and Antonio walked a few steps behind, their voices low as they conversed with Luc.
“Luc says you love books,” Mrs. Valachi said.
Mia’s heart jolted. “He said that?”
His mother smiled. “Yes, he has told me much about you.”
Mia almost snorted but managed to hold back the sound. “I was not aware he truly knew anything.”
A light laugh left Mrs. Valachi. “I left a few by your bedside. Some I read when I was your age and have since read them a dozen times; they are that wonderful.”
Mia smiled. “I am certain I will enjoy them as well.”
“Good. The balcony doors open all the way, so you’ll hear the waves at night. Dinner will be served shortly, so freshen up, and I will have someone escort you to the dining area when it’s time.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, Mia entered her bedroom on the second floor, which had a lovely balcony.
The garden suite smelled faintly of ocean and linen, evoking a soothing and clean scent.
In the bathroom, Mia stripped out of her travel clothes, folding them neatly before setting them aside.
She stepped beneath the shower, and the moment the hot water struck her skin, a sigh broke free.
Heat poured over her, loosening the knots in her shoulders, washing away the stiffness in her limbs.
For long moments, she stood there, eyes closed, letting the stream beat against her until the ache in her muscles finally melted.
It felt decadent—more than cleansing, it felt like a small surrender, a luxury she had not known in years.
Bath time had always been so practical and efficient at the convent, then quick and economical at the small apartment.
But the steam could not banish the memory that rose unbidden. Luc’s mouth on hers. The taste of him—heady, demanding, devastating. Her body flushed hotter than the water as she thought of it, as she wondered what it would be like in his bed, claimed as his wife.
A whole year of him.
A year of kisses that stole her breath, of touches that promised both fire and ruin. Her pulse raced, shame and confusion tangling with the secret spark of wanting.
When at last she shut off the shower, Mia dried herself and reached for the clothes laid out for her.
A silken blue shirt, soft as a whisper against her skin, and crisp linen trousers that fit perfectly.
She had never worn anything so fine, and slipping them on was like stepping into another life, one she could never belong to.
Mia left her hair loose, too tired to tame it, the damp strands trailing down her back.
A knock sounded on her door. In the hallway, Gabriella met her with a bright smile and looped her arm through Mia’s. “I have always wanted a sister! I am happy you are here. I was getting bored with Luc and Tonio.”
Mia smiled faintly, still at a loss for words, but something in Gabriella’s infectious spirit eased the knot in her chest, if only for a moment.
The dining room was stunning—featuring high ceilings, crystal chandeliers that cast a golden glow, and a polished mahogany table set with fine china and gleaming silver.
Luc stood by the mantle, speaking quietly with Antonio, both of them framed by the fire’s flicker.
Luc turned briefly at her entrance, his eyes unreadable, before returning to whatever exchange he was having with his brother.
Their mother swept into the room a moment later.
With a graceful nod, she took her place, and the family gathered around the table.
The meal unfolded with laughter and conversation.
Gabriella’s lively chatter filled the air, Antonio teased her mercilessly, and even Luc softened enough to share a wry remark.
Mia sat quietly at first, but soon the warmth drew her in.
They asked about the convent and the children she taught.
She found herself speaking easily, explaining how most were orphans, how their faces lit when they learned to read their first words.
Gabriella clapped her hands in delight; Luc’s mother’s eyes flickered with something close to approval, and Antonio watched her with curious laziness as if he were trying to understand just who she was.
For the first time in days, warmth bloomed inside Mia, and she felt at ease. If this were Luc’s family—welcoming, attentive, even kind—perhaps she could endure this year. Perhaps she could even find some measure of peace here.
But then she felt it. A gaze, steady and unrelenting. She turned and found Luc watching her. He wasn’t smiling. The warmth that had softened him in the presence of his family was gone, replaced by the same cold, cunning edge that chilled her to the bone.