Valentina.
Matteo made me go to therapy.
Or rather, he brought the therapist to the estate and made sure I was okay with it.
Therapy helped.
The sound of the gun, me hitting that tree multiple times, the man…. I was able to keep it at the back of my mind for the meantime.
“What do you think about another date?” He asked the moment he walked into the room, smelling like the new oud scent I had gotten him.
I paused, stirring the tea in my cup. His question hung in the air, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.
A date?
It’s been over a month since we went on our last date.
And it hadn’t been a traditional date in any sense.
“A date?” I repeated, more to fill the silence than because I didn’t understand him. I looked up to meet Matteo’s dark eyes and intense gaze, the kind that made me feel like he could see every thought I had.
“Yes,” He said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes scanning me in that familiar, possessive way. “It’s important.”
That gave me pause.
None of our other dates had ever been deemed important. What was so special about this one?
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What kind of date?” I asked, more wary than curious.
His lips curled into that faint smile I loved. “You’ll see.”
I opened my mouth to press further, but something in the way he looked at me made me stop. It was clear he wasn’t going to tell me much more, and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know just yet.
The drive to wherever we were going stretched on in silence, the tension thick between us.
Matteo still hadn’t told me about the situation that led to what happened to me, and I had no idea how to communicate with him anymore than through small talk.
“You can…” He had tried to start, then thought against it.
It was all clenched jaw and angrily gripping the steering until we got there.
The estate we pulled into was older, more traditional with an air of importance and history that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
The building seemed to stand over us, casting long shadows in the fading light.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice betraying the unease that had been bubbling inside me for the past hour.
Matteo didn’t answer right away. He killed the engine, his hand still gripping the steering wheel as though he wasn’t ready to get out of the car. It took two whole minutes before he turned to face me.
“My father is inside.”
Panic called up my throat.
The infamous Pedro Nevarro, Matteo’s father. The head of the Nevarro crime family, a man whose reputation was both terrifying and legendary.
Caterina had told me everything I needed to know about him when I asked, but before that… I heard glimpses of the conversation between my mom and dad.
I had never expected to meet him.
Not like this.
“You didn’t tell me we were meeting your father.” I coughed the words out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Matteo’s dark eyes were unreadable as they flickered over me, a hint of something like guilt crossing his face before it disappeared just as quickly. “I did something bad a month ago, and I want to apologize for it,” He flicked a strand of hair from my face. “Besides, you wouldn’t have come if I told you.”
He was right.
I wouldn’t have.
It was one thing for his father not to know about us, it was another thing entirely to meet him.
Pedro Nevarro was more than just intimidating, he was dangerous. He held the kind of power that could ruin lives with a word, and if I wasn’t careful, mine could be one of them.
It was something else to meet Giovanni, it was another thing to meet him.
“Should we leave?” Matteo asked after another moment of silence.
“No.”
Without another word, Matteo opened the car door and stepped out. I followed reluctantly, my heart racing as we approached the estate.
The front doors opened before we reached them, as if someone had been waiting for us. Two guards stood by, their gazes impassive but alert as we entered.
The interior of the estate was just as imposing as the outside – dark wood, heavy drapes, and antique furniture that was probably older than my grandfather.
This place was a museum on its own.
Matteo led me through the house without saying a word, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as though he needed to keep me close. I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter, each step making my unease grow stronger.
We finally stopped in front of a large, imposing door. Matteo paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment, as if he were debating whether to open it.
“My father is not a forgiving man,” he said quietly, his voice low. “But he will respect you as my wife.”
I swallowed hard, unsure if that was supposed to comfort me or not. “Does he even know we’re married?”
Matteo’s jaw clenched. “He knows.” Now.
Before I could ask anything more, Matteo opened the door and stepped inside, motioning for me to follow. I did, my heart pounding in my chest as I took in the sight before me.
Pedro Nevarro sat in a large armchair near the window, his back to us. He was older than I had imagined, his body frail and hunched with age, but there was no mistaking the aura of authority that radiated from him. Even from behind, I could feel the weight of his presence.
He didn’t turn around as we entered, and for a moment, I wondered if he even knew we were there.
Then, without warning, his raspy voice broke the silence.
“So, you’ve finally brought her.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a statement, cold and clipped, as though he had been expecting this moment for far too long.
“Yes, Father,” Matteo said, his voice laced with indifference. “This is Valentina.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause before Pedro Nevarro finally turned his head to look at me. His eyes, though clouded with age, were sharp and calculating, like a predator sizing up his prey.
I finally saw where Luca got his eye color from, and where they all got their intense gaze from.
But the moment those eyes locked onto mine, a shiver of recognition ran through me.
I had met him before.
A fleeting memory. One buried deep in my mind. A cold winter evening, a lavish event my parents had dragged Isabella and I to when we were children.
It took little effort on my part to wander away, especially when they were so focused on Isabella. I found myself lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, until I had found myself standing in front of a tall, imposing man with eyes as green as the trees outside, flaked with gold.
Him.
And from the way his lips curled into a bitter, humorless smile, I could tell he remembered our first encounter too.
“I should have known Matteo would choose you.”
I stiffened at the venom in his words, my mind racing to make sense of the sudden hostility.
Did he hate me?
I had been nothing more than a child when we last crossed paths, and yet there was something about me that seemed to offend him on a fundamental level.
“I didn’t choose her,” Matteo said quietly, his gaze fixed on his father. “You know the situation.”
Pedro’s eyes flicked toward Matteo, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, I know. A load of bullshit. You saw an opportunity, and you took it.”
“Valentina has proven herself,” Matteo continued, his voice steady but tense. “She’s strong.”
Pedro let out a harsh, barking laugh. “Strong? She’s weak. Just like she was as a child. Always afraid to speak up, doesn’t know a thing… She doesn’t belong in this life.”
The words cut deep, but I forced myself to stand tall, refusing to let his insults break me. I wasn’t the same scared little girl he remembered. I had survived things far worse than his cruel words.
“I’m not weak,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
Pedro’s green eyes narrowed, he leaned forward in his chair, his gaze boring into mine. “You think you can stand by my son’s side? You think you can handle the weight of this family?”
“I know I can.”
There was a long, tense silence as Pedron studied me, his expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, a cold, calculating smile spreading across his face.
“Isabella was still the better choice.”