HIS TO LOVE

Chapter4

Valentina froze where she stood. She didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, she sure didn't like it. Even Alessandro and his men were as confused as she was, if not worse.

“Restore the power supply,” Alessandro ordered, moving forward as if to see who had fired the gunshot, but there was no one in sight.

Without a single word, he moved out of the gate into the night. Valentina watched him, tempted to call him back. It was really dangerous. Whoever had done this was really dangerous, and she was scared.

“It's midnight, Alessandro,” she finally blurted out, and loud enough for him to hear her.

He turned and glared hard at her, but she didn't flinch. “I don't think you stand a chance against the other devil,” she continued.

“Get her inside, Edgar,” Alessandro replied, still moving outside the house.

Valentina sighed and moved inside, not bothering to look at Edgar who was already approaching her. “What a wedding,” she murmured, slumping on a sofa. “Wedding my foot,”

Edgar shut the door behind them, his expression unreadable as he took a seat across from Valentina. “You should rest,” he said after a pause.

Valentina scoffed, rubbing her temples. “Rest? "After that?” She gestured vaguely toward the door, where the chaos of the so-called wedding still lingered in the air. “This was supposed to be a grand affair, Edgar. Not… whatever this was.”

Edgar leaned back, studying her. “What did you expect? You knew what you were walking into.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Did I? Because I wanted to marry into a family, not a warzone.”

A long silence stretched between them before Edgar finally said, “You’re part of it now, Valentina. There’s no turning back.”

Valentina exhaled slowly, staring at the ornate ceiling. “I know,” she muttered. “That’s the problem.”

A heavy knock on the door made Valentina flinch. Edgar didn’t move right away, his eyes still fixed on her. Another knock—louder this time.

Sighing, Edgar rose and opened the door just enough to peek outside. Alessandro stood there, his suit slightly disheveled, his sharp gaze unreadable. “She settled?” he asked. A

“She’s inside,” Edgar confirmed, glancing back at Valentina, who had draped an arm over her face, as if blocking out the world. “Did you see anything, boss?” Edgar asked.

Alessandro stepped in, his shoes clicking against the marble floor. “Nothing,” he replied. He turned to Valentina. “We don’t have time for sulking,” he said, his voice cool. “The press are waiting for an explanation by tomorrow.”

Valentina scoffed, lowering her arm. “An explanation? What do you want me to say? ‘Oh, sorry everyone, the wedding was a disaster, but please, enjoy the champagne’?”

Alessandro folded his arms. “You don’t have to say anything. Just show up. Let them see you, let them believe everything is still under control.”

Valentina sat up slowly, studying him. “Is it?”

Alessandro didn’t answer right away. Instead, he adjusted his cufflinks, his expression betraying nothing. “It will be,” he finally said. “If you play your part.”

She let out a slow breath. “And if I don’t?”

Edgar shifted uncomfortably, but Alessandro’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’ll make an enemy out of the wrong people,” he said.

The words hung between them like an unspoken threat.

Valentina looked between the two men, then stood, smoothing out the creases in her dress. “Fine,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go put on a show.”

Alessandro gave a single nod, then turned and walked out. Edgar hesitated before following, but not before glancing at Valentina one last time. “Be careful,” he murmured.

Valentina didn’t reply. She simply lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and took the stares that led to her room.

“Is she gone?” Alessandro asked as soon as Valentina was out-of-ear shot.

“Yes, boss, she is,”

“Good,” he replied. “Tell Don Enzzo Russo I'd like to meet with him tomorrow. As for you, we'll talk better tomorrow. For now, good night.”

“Good night, boss.” Edgar dipped his head respectfully, his sharp eyes lingering on his lord for a fraction longer than necessary. He had caught the slight hesitation in Alessandro’s voice, the way his words had trailed off, as if he were holding something back.

It wasn’t like him to be so restrained—Alessandro was a man who chose his words with precision, revealing only what he wanted others to know. But tonight, there was something different. Something unsaid.

Edgar turned on his heel and strode out of the dimly lit office, but his mind remained restless. He hoped—no, expected—that tomorrow, his boss would be willing to share more. Whatever it was, it had clearly unsettled him.

Alessandro shifted in his leather chair, the faint creak of the worn material breaking the silence. His fingers drummed absently against the polished wood of his desk, his gaze unfocused. His mind kept circling back to the figure he had seen earlier, lurking just beyond the streetlamp’s glow.

At first, he had thought it was a trick of the shadows, a fleeting movement that would have meant nothing if not for the unmistakable familiarity of the person’s silhouette.

Even though the man had taken great care to conceal himself, Alessandro’s trained eyes had caught the details—broad shoulders, the deliberate way he moved, the sharp lines of his face barely visible in the darkness. There was only one man who carried himself that way.

His chest tightened. If he was back, then things were about to get complicated.