Valentina
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The wedding planner's studio is housed in a converted brownstone. Exposed brick, crystal chandeliers, and champagne that probably costs more than my old monthly rent. Elena Costa is a whirlwind of efficiency in head-to-toe black, her silver hair swept into an elegant chignon.
"Mr. Vitale," she greets smoothly. "And the lovely bride. Please, sit."
My mother and sister are already seated on one of the cream-colored sofas, champagne flutes in hand.
Mama looks beautiful in her Sunday dress. Sofia is practically bouncing with excitement, her phone already out to document everything.
"Val!" Sofia jumps up to hug me. "Oh my God, this place is insane. Did you see the flower wall? And the cake samples?"
"Yes, I saw. This place is pretty incredible." I hug her tight, breathing in her familiar light floral perfume. I've missed her so much.
"Cara." Mama rises more slowly, her eyes moving between me and Salvatore. She takes my hands, searching my face. "You look... different."
"Different how?"
"I'm not sure yet." She squeezes my hands. "We'll talk."
Salvatore steps forward. "Mrs. Marino. It's good to see you again."
"Mr. Vitale." Mama's voice is careful, measured. She knows exactly who he is and what he's capable of.
"He's so mysterious and brooding," Sofia pipes up, oblivious to the tension.
"Sofia."
"What? It's true!"
The next hour is a blur of fabric swatches, menu tastings, and debates about flowers. Sofia offers opinions on everything. Salvatore stays engaged, deferring to me on decisions but present in a way I didn't expect.
"What colors are you thinking?" Elena asks. "For the overall palette?"
Salvatore turns to look at me, waiting for my response.
“You’re welcome to give your opinion too, this is our wedding after all,” I say and he gets the hint.
I open my mouth, but Salvatore speaks at the same time.
"blue," we both say.
I turn to stare at him. He's staring back.
"With gold accents," I add.
Elena beams. "You two are so in sync!"
When Elena excuses herself to retrieve more samples, Salvatore touches my elbow.
"I'm going to give you some time with your mother and sister," he says quietly. "You need to talk without me hovering."
"You don't have to."
"I want to." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll be back in an hour. Take the time you need."
He nods to Mama, gives Sofia a small smile, and disappears through the door with Marco trailing behind him.
The moment he's gone, the energy in the room shifts.
"Okay," Sofia says, looking between me and Mama. "Someone want to tell me what's actually going on? Because there's clearly a whole conversation happening that I'm not part of."
Mama sighs, setting down her champagne. "Sit down, both of you. It's time I told you everything."
We settle onto the sofa, Sofia on one side of me, Mama across from us. The afternoon light catches the silver in her hair, and for a moment, she looks older than I've ever seen her.
"My name wasn't always Maria Marino," she begins. "I was born Isabella Castellano."
Sofia's brow furrows. "Castellano? Like the crime family Castellanos?” Sophia begins to stand and I take her hand in mind, softly squeezing it.
“Soph, just let her tell it.”
"Yes." Mama's voice is heavy. "My father, Vincent Castellano, was the consigliere, the most trusted advisor, to Giovanni Vitale. Salvatore's father."
I already know this part. Mama told me when she first visited the compound. But hearing her say it again, here, with Sofia listening... it feels different. More real.
"When I was nineteen, your age actually Sofia. An arrangement was made," Mama continues. "I was supposed to marry Salvatore’s father.” “Wait,” Sophia interrupts. “Salvatore’s father, as in, Valentina’s fiancés dad?
” “Yes. It would have elevated our family, cemented the alliance between the Castellanos and the Vitales forever. "
"But you didn't marry him," Sofia says slowly. "You married Dad."
"Marco." Mama smiles, but it's tinged with sadness. "Your father was one of Giovanni's guards. Young, handsome, kind. Everything Giovanni wasn't." She looks down at her hands. "I fell in love with him. And I made a choice that changed everything."
"You ran," I say quietly.
"We ran. The night before my wedding to Giovanni, Marco and I disappeared.
We had to become completely different people.
Isabella Castellano ceased to exist. I became Maria.
I changed my last name a couple of times, but then, when I married your father, I took the Mareno last name.
We moved constantly for years, always looking over our shoulders, until we eventually settled here and built a life.
" She meets my eyes. "I thought we'd escaped.
I thought the past couldn't touch us anymore. "
"But it did," Sofia whispers.
"Your father got involved with the mafia again. I honestly still don’t know how this happened but he did, and he made promises that he could not keep.
" Mama's voice hardens. "And the Vitales never forgot what I did.
What we did. When Salvatore took over the family a couple of years ago, he found us.
Found your father. Made him work off his debt in secret. I was afraid the moment they found us that you were at risk, honey," she reaches over and touches my chin. “But your dad insisted Salvatore wasn’t interested in you and that the debt was forgiven. But he was wrong.”
"Dad messed up again," I finish. "And Salvatore came to collect."
"With you as payment." Mama reaches across to take my hand. "The bride that should have been me, forty years ago. History correcting itself, as they see it."
Sofia looks horrified. "Val, you're being “forced” into this? This whole time, you've been there against your will? Oh my God!"
“It started that way,” I say carefully. “The contract. The arrangement. Yes, I didn’t have a choice.”
I swallow. “But Sofia…” I trail off, searching for the right words. “Things have changed.”
“Changed how?” Her expression flickers, then drains of color. “He fell in love with me, and… I fell in love with him. We’re in love Soph.”
“Oh my God. You have Stockholm syndrome.” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
“No, Soph. You know me.” I shake my head. “You know it would take more than two months for me, of all people, to develop Stockholm syndrome. Come on.” I hesitate, then force the words out. “Salvatore is just… different. Yes, he kidnapped me—”
“He kidnapped you?” she shouts, then freezes, eyes wide. She lowers her voice to a furious whisper. “He kidnapped you?”
She whirls toward our mother. “Mom, he kidnapped her, and we’re just standing here tasting wedding cake like this is normal? We need to call the police, now, before he gets back.”
My mother and I exchange a look. Then she reaches for Sofia’s hands, her voice calm but unyielding.
“Honey,” she says softly, “I know this feels insane to you. But this was my world for a long time. This is just how it works in the Cosa Nostra.”
She holds Sofia’s gaze. “The men take what they want. And it’s the women who learn how to keep them in line.”
A beat.
“I know how it sounds. But believe it or not, your sister is safe with him.”
Sofia’s mouth opens. Closes.
“He loves her,” my mother continues. “I can see it. And when a mafia king falls in love…” Her voice drops. “He’ll burn down the entire city to keep her safe. And in his arms.”
She turns to me then, studying my face with a tenderness that nearly breaks me.
“What I saw today wasn’t a woman being held against her will,” Mama says gently. “The way he looks at you, cara. The way you look at him. The way you speak the same words at the same time.”
She shakes her head slowly.
“That’s not an arrangement anymore.”
Her eyes soften.
Sofia’s voice drops. “You’re saying you accept this?”
“No,” Mama says calmly. “If your sister wanted to escape, I’d already be planning it.”
She doesn’t look at Sofia when she adds, “Right now.”
Sofia stiffens.
“But she doesn’t,” Mama continues. “She loves him.”
Her gaze finally shifts to me.
“And you know your sister. Reserved, careful, yet always drawn to stories about men like him.”
A faint, knowing smile touches her lips. “Those books were her guilty pleasure.”
She meets Sofia’s eyes again.
“Now she has one of her own.”
Mama says quietly. “He loves your sister.”
Sofia shakes her head, tears in her eyes. “I don’t like this.”
She inhales. “That’s not conditioning.” Her voice lowers. “That’s a connection. A choice.”
Mama squeezes my hand.
“But don’t let me speak for you, honey. What are you going to do? What do you want to do?”
It’s hard to answer the questions because the truth is, I’m not sure.
"He's different," I admit. "From what I expected. He's... he's trying."
I stop.
There's something else sitting at the edge of everything I haven't said out loud yet. Something that surfaced at dinner last night and hasn't left me since.
"Mama. At dinner, one of Salvatore’s brothers, Matteo, mentioned, casually, like it was nothing, that they launder money through the mayor's office." I watch her face. "Lindsay's father."
Mama goes very still.
Sofia's champagne flute stops halfway to her mouth. “What the fuck is going on with everyone?”
“Watch your mouth Sofia,” mom says.
"Does she know?" Mama asks carefully. "About you? About all of this?"
"She knows I'm engaged to him. She doesn't know everything." I exhale.
The room is quiet for a moment.
"So what are you going to do?" Sofia asks.
I don't have an answer. I'm not sure there is one.
"I don’t know. But, she has to know.”
“What about Salvatore? What are you going to do about him?” my mother asks.
I think..." I take a breath. "I think I might be falling for him. And I don't know what to do about that either."
Mama's expression is complicated.