Chapter 8
VALENTINA
It's the day before the wedding, and I can't remember the last time I felt so torn between nervous and miserable.
The day I'd say yes to a man was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
Yet tomorrow fills me with nothing but dread and anxiety, made even worse by this pulsating desire within my core.
Luca has wormed his way into my mind, and I can't get him out.
"Mama!" Michael calls out. He's in his playpen, and his favorite toy, a little red plastic car, fell over the edge.
"Here you go, sweetheart," I say, handing him the car.
"Thank you, Mama."
"You're most welcome, baby."
I always dote on him a bit more when I'm nervous, though Michael is too young to tell.
With a heavy sigh, I get up and walk over to the window.
It's early morning, and the back garden looks like a slice of green heaven under this light.
I suppose it's designed to offer peace and tranquility, but even the view doesn't do much to soothe my frayed nerves.
A knock on the door makes me turn on my heel. My heart jumps, and I expect Luca to come in. But Victor enters instead.
Ignoring the subtle pang of disappointment, as irrational as it may be, I smile at Victor. He carries in two large paper bags from Loyoli's, one of the biggest children's department stores in the high-end range.
"I hope you don't mind, Valentina," he says as he sets the bags on the bed. "But I took the liberty of buying a few things for Michael."
"Oh, Victor, that's so kind of you. You shouldn't have."
"But I most certainly enjoyed it." He chuckles lightly. "Seeing as I never had children of my own, Michael is pretty much the closest thing I'll ever have to a grandson. So, here we are."
He takes everything out of the bags while Michael goes on with his playtime, too busy pushing his toy cars and dinosaurs around to notice the plethora of wonderful things Victor brought in.
"You're amazing, Victor," I tell him. "I can't thank you enough."
"Only the best for Michael Petrucci."
"Ah… right."
Victor notices the shift in my expression; I try to focus on the stacks of clothes and shoes.
"Valentina, what is it?" Victor asks.
"Oh, these are sweet," I point at a mini tuxedo set. "For tomorrow, I guess?"
"Valentina."
"His legal name is Michael Peroni," I say. "I've never wanted him to have the Petrucci name."
"It bothers you that much?"
I nod slowly. "Given how he came to be and the way he's currently being used as a pawn, yes."
"I know Stefano wasn't kind to you."
"That's one word for it."
"When you're ready to say the rest, say it to Luca. It will change more than you think," he says.
"I doubt it. Luca sees me as some kind of responsibility. I come attached to my son. He wants Michael. My son is his heir and a useful bargaining chip later down the line."
Victor frowns slightly, taking some toys out of the other bag. He unpacks the smaller ones and leaves them in Michael's playpen, which keeps the kid busy and delighted for a little while longer. I take a moment to unwrap the story books.
"These are wonderful," I tell him. "Michael loves his evening story time."
"Valentina, you're not just the boy's mother," Victor replies. "It might not seem like it right now, but in the Petrucci family, the woman is sacred. The mother is holy in so many ways. Luca is merely trying to protect you."
"Yes, because he doesn't have the heart to kill me and have somebody else raise Michael," I scoff and shake the idea away from my head—the idea that there may ever be anything more between Luca and me aside from a sense of obligation.
There's no point in kidding myself. "That's pretty much all there is to it. "
Victor shakes his head. "Valentina, that's not true."
"Not true?" I raise an eyebrow at him.
Finally, the shadow of admission flutters in his eyes. It's brief and ephemeral, but it's there. I recognize it.
"Luca didn't know what he was dealing with either at first," he says. "And Luca has had several of Stefano's messes to clean up since his passing. Finding out about you was a blow. And when a Petrucci man is in damage-control mode—"
"I was the damage he needed to control."
"Maybe for a moment," Victor says, his eyes meeting mine. "You need to understand something, Valentina. Luca is a good man. In many ways, and may God forgive me, a better man than his brother ever was."
"Forgive me, Victor, but I have a hard time believing that right now."
"I can imagine. You're being forced into a difficult situation, but even you have to admit the only other option will likely lead to trouble and tragedy. You know Mauro will stop at nothing to get to you purely out of spite."
"Spite?"
Victor takes a deep breath and walks over to the window, slowly gathering his thoughts. "I warned Luca about this, too, long before he even found you and Michael."
"About what?" I ask.
"About the motive behind Mancuso's desire to bring Michael into his family.
He may claim it's because he desperately wants a male heir, but I think it runs deeper and darker with the old bastard.
I think he wants to take Michael away from the Petruccis more than he wants Michael to be a Mancuso, if that makes sense. "
The idea sends a cold rush through my veins.
More than once, I'd thought about it, as well. When Stefano and I began our tryst, he committed an unspeakable sin against my stepfather's grand pride and so-called honor. Leaving me with child humiliated the Mancusos as a whole. I remember the words spoken in anger the night I left.
And I feared the decisions that would follow in the morning.
Which is why I left.
"I feel like a tool the Petruccis and the Mancusos somehow feel justified to use," I tell Victor. "It's not fair to me, and it's not fair to Michael either. We deserve peace and safety. A family unit of our own, away from all of this."
"I can't blame you for feeling this way. But Luca—"
The conversation is cut short as Luca has a hard look on his face as he walks in. I freeze with Michael's mini tuxedo in my hands, and Victor straightens his back and slowly raises his chin.
"The dress will be delivered shortly," Luca says. "Raquel will be in first thing in the morning to help you get ready for the ceremony."
I can't help but roll my eyes at him. "Whatever."
"It's happening," he says.
"Okay."
Luca eyes Victor. "Can you give us a moment?"
"Sure," Victor casually replies, as he gives me one last smile of gentle reassurance. "Mind if I take Michael out in the garden for a bit? We'll meet you downstairs for breakfast when you're ready."
"Thank you," I reply with a nod.
I watch Victor as he gingerly picks up my boy and walks out. Michael seems comfortable with him, and it causes a deep pain in the center of my heart—because I cannot, for the life of me, imagine my stepfather being as sweet or as warm with my son.
"I don't expect you to jump for joy regarding tomorrow," Luca says when we're left alone.
"But?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "Do you expect me to smile and be nice about it?"
"I expect you to be civil," he replies, a hint of humor burning in his hazel eyes.
I'm briefly distracted by the specks of silver in his short beard. His features are more refined and elegant than Stefano's.
"I promise to be civil in the sense that I won't hurl anything at your head," I reply.
Luca chuckles lightly. "Are you being reckless just to annoy me, Valentina?"
"I'm just being brutally honest. I'm screwed either way, so why not go out with a bang, rather than a whimper?"
"Is that how you see tomorrow's wedding? As the end?" His brows pull closer, a slight frown drawing a shadow in between.
I nod slowly. "The end of my life as I know it. You've taken my freedom of choice away, Luca. What did you think would happen?"
"I'm saving your life."
"Oh, thank you. You're marrying me instead of killing me. What a grand gesture! I'm overwhelmed." I scoff and turn away from him.
A split-second later, Luca turns me around and takes me into his arms.
"Listen to me very carefully, Valentina.
I may never say this again, so you need to remember it," Luca says, his voice suddenly low and reverberating somewhere deep in my ribcage.
"You're becoming my wife because it's where you belong, whether you are ready to admit it or not.
Stefano took you for granted. He misjudged you and he mistreated you, and if he were still alive, I'd probably kill him again for the way he hurt you. I can never undo what he did."
"Luca," I whisper, suddenly shivering against him.
"A woman like you is to be treated like a queen. You brought a Petrucci into the world, and I will stop at nothing to make sure you're never without, ever again. Do you hear me?"
I nod once.
His left hand rests on the small of my back while the right one works its way up my spine, gently settling on my nape with a softness and certainty that makes my skin tingle.
"I don't care that you despise these circumstances, but I will not let anyone ever come close enough to hurt you or Michael. Don't make me repeat myself, Valentina. I don't like that."
"Well, pardon me," I mutter, unable to help myself.
He kisses me, but it's not a furious kiss. I sense the hunger, the longing, the curiosity burning inside him. It feels decisive. It's a message from his heart to mine, asking me to trust this man for once in my life.
To let him lead.
I may not have any other choice.