The Don's Secret Heir

Valentina POV "You're going to laugh at my uncle tonight," Marco said. I didn't look up from the mirror. "I never laugh at your uncle." "You always laugh at him," Marco said, adjusting his sleeves in the reflection behind me. "He tells the same story about the horse every single time, and you laugh like you've never heard it before." "That is because he tells it differently every time," I said, turning to check the side of my dress. "Last month, the horse bit a church official. Tonight, it will probably be the Pope himself." He caught my eye in the mirror. There it was—that specific look. It was the look he thought I didn't notice, like he was still surprised by how close we had become, but had quietly decided he was happy about it. "You look beautiful," he said. "I know," I said, smoothing the front of my dress and turning away from the glass. "Just don't let your uncle corner me before dinner. I need to mentally prepare myself before we get to the horse story." "I have no control over my uncle." "You run a massive family business, Marco." "And my uncle remains entirely beyond my reach," he said, holding the door open and pointing out into the evening. "Some things are simply impossible." I laughed and walked past him into the night. The dinner was long and relaxing. Marco's uncle, Uncle Tino, did not disappoint. By the time the main course arrived, he was already standing up, using his breadstick as a weapon to recreate the famous scene. "So there I was," Uncle Tino shouted, waving the breadstick wildly, nearly taking out a waiter’s ear. "The horse didn't just bite the mayor this time! No, no. The horse looked the mayor dead in the eye, sneezed a massive puddle right onto his expensive silk tie, and then—I swear on my mother’s grave—the beast actually winked at me!" I burst out laughing, pressing a napkin to my mouth. Across the table, Marco was rubbing his temples, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. "Uncle," Marco sighed. "Last week you said the horse stole the mayor's hat and chewed it." "It did both!" Uncle Tino insisted, completely unbothered. "It chewed the hat to hide the evidence of the sneeze! It was a highly criminal animal, Marco. You have no respect for history." By the second telling, during dessert, the horse had somehow become a retired Italian racehorse named Lightning who could understand three languages and actively hated politicians. The sheer absurdity of Uncle Tino throwing his arms around and mimicking a multilingual, politically active horse had me laughing so hard my ribs ached. During a brief moment of quiet while Uncle Tino was busy aggressively defending his story to a cousin, I leaned closer to Marco. The laughter died down in my chest, replaced by a sudden, nervous flutter. My heart began to thud heavily against my ribs. "Marco," I whispered, touching his arm. "I need to tell you something. Before we leave tonight. It's important." Marco looked down at me, a soft smile still lingering on his lips from my laughter. He reached over, taking my hand and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Can it wait until after dinner? My aunt is already staring at us, and if we start whispering now, she’ll think we are plotting a coup." "Marco, I'm serious," I urged, my voice dropping lower. "It’s about—" "Hey! No secrets at the table!" Uncle Tino boomed, pointing a fork at us. "Marco, stop romancing your beautiful woman and let her listen to how Lightning escaped the police station!" Marco laughed and kissed the back of my hand. "See? We have an audience. Whatever it is, tell me in the car on the drive home, okay? Just a few more minutes." I swallowed hard, the words trapping themselves right at the back of my throat. I forced a small nod and let out a tight breath. The car, I told myself. I will tell him the moment we get into the car. But the weight of the secret felt heavier now, leaving a strange, unresolved ache in my chest. What would he say? How would his face change when he finally heard the truth? The biggest surprise of the night, however, was Carmela Ricci. For years, she had ignored me completely, looking right through me like I was invisible. I had even heard her tell Marco once, in a loud voice, that I was just temporary. He hadn't argued with her, and I had never brought it up. So when she reached for the wine bottle and held it toward me, I froze. "No, thank you," I said, keeping my voice smooth. "No wine for me tonight." Carmela paused, the bottle hovering in the air. She looked at me closely, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Are you feeling fine, Valentina?" "Yes," I replied, forcing a polite smile. "Just a bit tired. I think I would prefer a soft drink, if that's alright." To my absolute shock, Carmela didn't call for a waiter. Instead, she stood up from her chair. "I will get it for you myself," she said smoothly. I stared after her as she walked away toward the sideboard. It was completely uncharacteristic of her, given how much she hated me. I exchanged a quick, puzzled look with Marco, who looked just as surprised as I was. When she returned, she set the glass of soft drink directly in front of me with an attention she had never shown me before. "Where did you find the fabric?" Carmela asked, her eyes lingering on my dress as she sat back down. "I didn't just find it," I said, keeping my voice calm as I took a sip of the drink. "I bought it eight months ago and waited until I knew exactly what to do with it." She looked at me with something that felt very close to approval. "That takes patience," she said. "Most people don't have it." "Most people buy the wrong dress." She almost smiled. I told myself this meant things were finally changing for the better. Marco's hand found my knee under the table, and I pushed a small, cold feeling of nervousness deep down into my stomach and left it there. By the time dessert came, I still hadn't found the right moment to tell him about the pregnancy. After dinner, I promised myself. In the car. Then, everything shifted. It wasn't a gradual feeling—it came on fast and wrong. The room stayed sharp, but the sound went completely dead. It felt like someone had turned the volume down on everyone, leaving their mouths moving in silence. Marco said something beside me. I could hear the muffled vibration of his voice, but I couldn't understand a single word. "I think I need some air," I said, setting my glass down carefully. I wasn't sure if anyone actually heard me. I wasn't even sure if I had spoken out loud. I stood up, and the floor tilted in a dangerous way. Someone touched my arm, but I couldn't see who it was. Suddenly I was in the hallway, and then the lights looked wrong, the smell in the air was wrong, and a deep, total cold came out of nowhere. I kept telling myself that I was just tired, that I was fine. But my legs gave out. The walls were moving around me. I tried to call out Marco's name, but the word stayed stuck in my throat and wouldn't come out. The darkness was already at the edges of my vision, patient and waiting, and then it took me completely.