Married to the Enemy's Heir

Valeria noticed the smell first. The leather in the room had the scent of something old and stained. She stepped inside her uncle’s study. It was dark, even though it was still daytime. The windows were covered, and the only light came from two lamps sitting at the ends of a long desk. Three men were already inside. Her uncle, Marco Moretti, sat at the head of the table. He didn’t smile. To his right sat Don Enzo Luciano, the man Valeria blamed for her father’s death. And beside him was someone she had never seen in person until now Luca Luciano. He looked exactly how she hoped he wouldn’t. He was good-looking. Calm. Like he had already won. Marco didn’t stand. “Valeria,” he said. “Come. Sit down.” “No.” She stayed near the door. “You said this was a family matter. That man,” she said, pointing at Enzo, “is the reason my father is dead.” Enzo laughed quietly. “Still full of fire. Just like your father.” “You didn’t know him.” “I knew how he died.” Luca let out a quiet sigh and stood. “Let’s not waste time. We didn’t ask you here to talk about the past.” “Then why did you ask me here?” Valeria snapped. Marco slid a folder across the desk. “To talk about your future.” She didn’t take the folder. Marco tapped it. “It’s a marriage contract. You will marry Luca Luciano. The wedding is in five days. Once it’s done, our families will finally be united. In return, the Lucianos will help restore our name and send money to protect what we still have.” Valeria didn’t move. “So, I’m a bargaining chip.” Enzo smiled. “No. You’re an investment.” She looked at Luca. “What do you get from this deal?” He met her eyes. “Peace.” She laughed once. “Liar.” Marco’s voice turned sharp. “You will sign it.” “I won’t.” “You will,” Marco said, pulling something else from the drawer. It was a photo. He slid it across the table. Valeria looked down. It was a picture of Matteo, her younger cousin. He was meeting with one of Marco’s men. They were exchanging something. An envelope. “Matteo has been helping move our product,” Marco said. “Nothing big. But if the Lucianos pull their protection, the police will come after us. Matteo won’t last a day behind bars. Not with our last name.” “You’re threatening your own nephew?” “I’m protecting what matters.” Valeria stared at the photo. She didn’t speak for a long time. Then she walked to the table and stood over the contract. “Fine. You want me to sign? I’ll do it.” She looked at Luca. “But don’t expect me to pretend this is real.” He stood as well. “I don’t care what you pretend. I only need you to show up on the day.” She turned to leave. Before walking out, she looked back over her shoulder. “When this is over,” she said, “I’ll destroy everything you built.” She opened the door and walked out. Valeria didn’t notice her hands were shaking until she reached the hallway. She stopped near the large window that looked over the garden. The same garden where she used to steal sweets from the kitchen and hide them under the lavender bushes. That was before. Back when her father was alive and the Moretti name still had power. Now she was being sold like property. She pressed her hand against the cold glass and closed her eyes. A voice came from behind her. “That went well.” She opened her eyes and turned her head slightly. Luca Luciano stood a few feet away. He was holding the contract folder, still dressed like nothing had changed. He didn’t smile. She didn’t either. “I didn’t ask for company,” she said. “I didn’t ask to get married,” he replied. “Then say no.” He stepped closer, slowly. “I could. But then Matteo ends up in prison, and your name gets dragged through the dirt. Your uncle made sure of that.” She looked him in the eye. “So this is your version of kindness?” “No. This is business.” “You really are your father’s son.” Luca’s face didn’t change. “Are you done trying to fight a war that’s already lost?” “Are you done following orders?” “I came to offer you something.” “What, a gun?” He stepped even closer. “Privacy.” Valeria narrowed her eyes. “You and I don’t have to play pretend,” Luca said. “We don’t have to like each other. But when the wedding happens, you’ll wear the dress, walk down the aisle, and act like it’s real. Just for the cameras. Just for the deal.” She gave a short laugh. “And if I don’t?” He leaned in, his voice low. “Then I’ll make you. And believe me, I’m better at it than your uncle.” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Luca took a step back. “A tailor will come to your room tomorrow. Be polite. You’ll need the dress to fit.” He started to leave, then stopped near the staircase. Without looking back, he said, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re just a pawn.” She didn’t answer. “You’re a bomb,” he said. “And you’re going to explode at the wrong moment.” Then he walked away. Valeria was awake before the sun rose. She hadn’t slept. She had spent the night walking in circles across her bedroom, thinking about the contract, the threat, and Luca’s cold voice in the hallway. Every time she tried to rest, her thoughts came back to the same thing. She was going to marry into the family that destroyed hers. At exactly ten o'clock, there was a knock at her door. She stood by the window, not surprised. “Come in,” she said. The door opened, and a tall woman in a gray suit walked in carrying two long bags and a measuring kit. “Miss Moretti,” she said with a polite nod. “My name is Isa. I was sent by Mr. Luciano.” Of course she was. Isa opened the first bag and pulled out a wedding dress. It was pale ivory, with lace along the neckline and a silk skirt that shimmered even in the soft light. The lace was shaped like vines with small sharp tips that looked like thorns. “This was his suggestion,” Isa said. “I brought others, but he said you’d choose this one.” Valeria stepped closer and touched the fabric. “He was right.” “You’ll need a fitting. May I?” Valeria didn’t speak. She simply dropped her robe and stood tall. Isa worked in silence, taking her measurements and pinning the fabric where needed. She moved like someone who had done this a thousand times. No comments, no fake kindness, just quiet focus. When Isa zipped the back of the dress, Valeria turned toward the mirror. The dress fit like it was made for her. She looked strong. She looked beautiful. She also looked trapped. Isa stepped back. “It fits almost perfectly. I’ll return it tomorrow.” “I’ll try not to gain or lose anything overnight,” Valeria said flatly. Isa didn’t laugh. She nodded. “Most women in your place would cry. Or scream.” “I’m not most women.” “No,” Isa said. “You’re not.” Then she left. Valeria changed into simple clothes and slipped through the house, careful not to be seen. She moved down the west wing hallway and stopped in front of the door her uncle had sealed after the funeral. Her father’s study. She pulled a small key from her necklace. One of the few things Marco hadn’t taken from her. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The air smelled like her father’s cologne and old books. The curtains were still drawn. Dust covered the desk and chairs. The dish of hard candies by the lamp was still full, untouched for years. She walked to the bookshelf on the left wall and pressed her fingers along the spines. Click. A small panel opened. Inside was a notebook. She pulled it out and flipped through it. Her father’s handwriting filled the pages — neat, careful, detailed. He had written about business deals, transfers, names, and dates. But what caught her eye was a small page tucked near the back. A note. There was a second betrayal. Someone from within. Watch the man who smiles too much. The deal was not ours alone. Valeria read it again and again. A second betrayal. Someone inside her family? Her uncle? Or someone else? She turned the note over and saw two letters. D. L. She didn’t know what they meant yet. But she would. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. She shut the notebook, slid it back into the panel, and locked it. The door opened. Luca stood there, watching her. “You’re up early,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep,” she replied. He stepped into the room. “Looking for something?” “I’m visiting my father’s study.” “You’re holding something.” She didn’t answer. “If you’re going to dig through the past,” he said, “be careful. You might not like what you find.” She looked straight at him. “Then tell me what you already know.”