Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Luc hadn’t planned for his mother to find him pacing the solarium at dawn, but Rosina Valachi had an uncanny way of catching her sons with their guard down. She slipped in, a cup of espresso in each hand, her charcoal robe cinched tight against the coastal chill.
“Another sleepless night?” she asked lightly, though her winter-storm eyes missed nothing. She pressed a warm cup into his palm.
He gave a noncommittal grunt.
“You’ve never paced for a deal, Luciano.” Her slipper crushed a fallen camellia underfoot. “Tell me about Mia. I want your impression. She seemed fragile to me.”
“She is stronger than she looks,” Luc murmured. “Stubborn. Fiery even when afraid. She hasn’t lived outside those convent walls, and loneliness has been her only companion. She even had the nerve to run from me, and she almost succeeded.”
Rosina clicked her tongue, faint amusement breaking her composure. “So she has spirit. Do you think she will try again?”
“She will give me a year. And in that time, an heir,” he said coolly. “At the end of the year, she will be allowed to leave.”
His mother stilled, fingers tightening on her cup. “You and I both know there is no way out of this life.”
“Yes.”
A shudder rippled through his mother’s body, and when she finally turned to face him, her eyes shimmered with a deep, quiet sorrow. “Then at least give her a chance.”
He frowned, startled by the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Mother—”
“Mia did not ask for this,” Rosina whispered. “She has no idea that the ‘out’ you mean for her is death.”
Cold slipped into Luc’s chest. He held his mother’s stare, offering no denial. Yes—death was the only exit. To release Mia would be to hand her over as a weapon to his enemies. That had been the Commission’s law for more than fifty years.
“What chance do you wish me to give her?” he asked, his voice like ice. “I promised her protection, a marriage, everything she could want and still she spoke of leaving.”
“Because she does not know the cost,” his mother snapped. “If she did—”
“She would stay?” His indifference turned chilling. “And what then? Walk about playing the martyr, enduring a life she never wanted? I will not allow that poison near our child.”
“Give her the chance to be loyal to you… give her the chance to trust you… give her the chance to love you, and that woman would never leave your side.”
Luc froze, something harsh and vicious tugging in his chest.
“Mio figlio, you can cage a bird, but she’ll break her wings bloody against the iron.
Sometimes,”—she tapped his chest, right above his heart—“you must use the open window, not the hammer. You want a wife, not a hostage. You want her to bring light and warmth into your home, as I once did for your father… before he forgot the value of such things.”
A shadow crossed her face, gone as quickly as it came.
Luc’s knuckles whitened around his cup. He did not trust himself to speak of his father—of the mistress’s jasmine perfume on his shirtsleeves, of cold dinners left outside a locked study, of his mother’s silent humiliations pressed into pillowcases like dried flowers.
Once Luc took his vows, he would honor them, but he would also live by the Commission’s code.
Get Mia to fall in love with him. What the fuck did that even mean?
“I’ll try,” he said finally.
Rosina brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers, the faded mafia crest inked on her wrist slipping from her sleeve like an old bloodstain.
“Convince her, mio figlio. Give her the dreams she thought she’d lost.” Her nail traced his jawline.
He tolerated it—she was his mother after all.
“Then she will love you and fear you properly.”
“I know nothing about love,” he said flatly. “Nor do I have time for such nonsense.”
“You say that only because you don’t know where to begin.”
That uncomfortable pull in his chest came again, sharp and unwelcome.
Rosina set her cup down with deliberate care.
“You’ll need to give Mia something real,” she said quietly.
“Not jewels, not flowers, not empty promises. Something that matters to her. She likely thinks you’re a monster.
And perhaps you are, mio figlio—but you are also more than a mafia king.
That is what she must see. Because once Mia loves you, she will never want to leave. ”
Luc was silent, his thoughts circling the impossible notion of Mia loving him. What would that mean? That the smile he’d seen in her photograph would one day be his? That when he kissed her, there would be welcome instead of fear, desire instead of shame?
“Whenever you are with her, do not think like a don, but a husband.”
His mother smiled faintly, then turned and left.
Luc leaned against the balcony rail, the stone biting into his palms. If Mia wanted to leave at the end of the year, it would mean death. He pressed a hand against his chest, unsettled by the twist at the thought of her dying.
The sunrise bled through the fog like a slow knife wound. However this ended, there were only two possibilities: Mia would come to love her gilded prison or she would leave it in a velvet-lined casket. In their world, there was no third option.
Mia barely slept. When dawn finally scraped gray light across the garden suite’s walls, she lay beneath crisp linen sheets, Luc’s kiss still burning against her lips. Somewhere beyond the glass, the ocean’s waves whispered their soothing call.
I want to feel your pussy on my tongue.
“Ugh,” she muttered, burying her hot face in her hands.
Shame twisted with a hunger she wished she could deny, wishing she had let him take what he wanted.
The ache lingered from her dreams, sharp and needy, her body betraying her with the wet throb between her thighs.
With a furious blush, she pressed her face into the pillow, as if she could smother the want clawing through her.
A soft knock startled her. Not commanding—hesitant, almost hopeful.
“Signorina?” Gabriella’s voice, muffled through the door. “May I come in?”
Mia sat up slowly, her spine stiff. In the mirror, she caught her reflection—lips red and bruised from his kisses. “Come in,” she whispered.
The door cracked open. Gabriella slipped inside, carrying a tray of tea and pastries, her golden-brown eyes bright with mischief. She set it down, gave Mia a quick wink, then darted out again, leaving the scent of honeyed bread in her wake.
Before Mia could make sense of it, Luc filled the doorway. His presence seemed to eclipse the morning light. He studied her for a long beat, then his lips curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Come with me to the beach,” he said, his tone more invitation than command.
Her heart stumbled. For one foolish, tentative moment, hope pressed inside her chest. Could things truly be different, if only for this one year? She found herself smiling hesitantly, yet genuinely. “Yes,” she murmured. Then her face fell. “But… I have no swimsuit.”
The door burst open again. Gabriella, clearly eavesdropping, swept inside, clapping her hands in delight. “That is no problem at all! I have so many new suits, you must borrow one.” Her grin widened. “It will be fun. I’ll make sure you look perfect.”
Mia flushed, torn between embarrassment and a strange flutter of excitement.
For the first time since her world had shattered, she let herself imagine something that almost felt like freedom.
An hour later, she slipped into a deep purple, one-piece swimsuit that clung to her curves with indecent precision.
The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, molding to every contour of her body as if made for her alone.
The high-cut design left her legs impossibly long, the low back baring smooth skin that flushed under her own gaze.
Embarrassingly, she’d been forced to shave more than she ever had before.
Mia stood before the mirror, hands twisting nervously at her sides.
The convent had taught her modesty, restraint, and the sanctity of concealment.
Yet here she was—bare, sensual, and wholly uncertain of how to carry it.
She tied a sheer sarong around her hips, the gauzy fabric fluttering uselessly with every breath.
It hid nothing. With a final steadying inhale, she descended the stairs.
Luc was waiting at the bottom. The moment his gaze lifted to her, his expression shifted—hunger first, raw and unmistakable, before it was quickly masked by his usual cool composure.
Mia’s pulse jumped. She curled her toes into her slippers to hide the tremor that wanted to shake through her, and when he silently opened the door for her, she managed a small smile and murmured, “Thank you.”
Once outside, she walked toward the waiting jeep, acutely aware of his presence beside her.
Without a word, Luc opened the door. Mia slid into the front seat, the faint scent of leather and sea air wrapping around her.
She watched him circle to the driver’s side, his stride unhurried, confident.
The sunlight caught on the edge of his sunglasses, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she would always find him this dangerously compelling.
The air between them thrummed with quiet energy as the engine rumbled to life beneath them.
Luc said nothing, his focus fixed ahead, and Mia didn’t dare break the silence.
She turned her gaze to the window instead, watching the blur of the passing scenery, her thoughts tangling with each mile they drove.
The ride stretched on, the salty wind whipping through her hair as the open-top jeep rolled along the coast road. Behind them, the shadow of the armored SUV followed at a discreet distance, never too close, never too far.
When they finally turned off, the sign read Ditch Plains Beach. The sight of the wide sweep of pale sand and restless blue waves stole her breath for a moment. She turned her face into the wind, inhaling the clean tang of sea spray.
“I used to sneak here when I was a teenager,” Luc said, as they alighted from the jeep. “To surf.”
Her gaze shot to him. “Why did you have to sneak?”
He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth tilting. “Because nonessential fun wasn’t part of my curriculum.”
Something twisted inside her chest. For a moment, she forgot who he was, seeing instead the boy he must have been—caged, ruthlessly molded into the man he was today. Mia could not imagine what life must have been like for him. “What fun did you have here?”
A rare smile curved his mouth, and God help her, it stole her breath.
“I loved surfing and was determined to learn. I would sneak here as often as I could. I rode a five-foot wave at sixteen and since then, on the odd occasion, I come here to surf.”
She blinked. “You taught yourself?”
“Painstakingly. No one in my family ever knew.”
Warmth tangled inside her chest. “Why are you telling me this?”
His eyes caught hers, and the faint smile deepened into something sharper. “Because I’m trying to make you fall in love with me. For that to happen, you need to know who I am.”
Mia spluttered, staring at him. Then, unexpectedly, a laugh broke from her chest. “Why would you admit that? That is not how it works.”
An arrogant brow lifted. “Oh, you have much experience?”
“No,” she admitted sheepishly. “But I have watched a lot of romantic comedies and movies.”
“I read about this love business on the internet,” he said with unnerving seriousness. “One of the foundations is honesty. So, I resolved to always be honest with you. Whatever you ask, I will be an open book.”
Mia could only stare at him, at once baffled, disbelieving, and far too aware of the power behind that honesty. “Is it so important to you for me to fall for you?” The very idea was astonishing.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, eyes fixed on the horizon, he said quietly, “I thought it wasn’t. But now… I’m not so sure. I’ll wait and see.”
The waves crashed against the shore, and Mia wrapped her arms around herself, unsure if the chill that passed through her came from the wind or from the man beside her.