After Years of a Cold Marriage, the Mafia Boss Touched Her for the First Time—And Everything Changed

Lorenzo De Luca lay in one of the downstairs bedrooms while a private physician Marcus trusted removed a bullet from his shoulder.

Thirty armed men now surrounded the property.

Marcus wanted fifty.

Alessandro convinced him that fifty men would attract local police, journalists, and possibly the Italian military.

Marcus had responded that he did not care.

I reminded him we were technically on our honeymoon.

He stared at me as if I had lost my mind.

“Someone shot at you.”

“Technically, they shot at you and Lorenzo.”

“You were standing beside me.”

“I’m aware.”

“That means they shot at you.”

There was no winning that argument.

Now Marcus stood in the study beneath a ceiling painted with faded angels while three laptops displayed satellite maps, security feeds, and photographs of men whose names meant nothing to me.

The letter from Sofia remained unopened on the desk.

Marcus had not touched it since we returned.

I sat opposite him.

“You should read it.”

“No.”

“You carried it all the way here.”

“So?”

“So you’ve looked at it every eleven seconds for the past two hours.”

His gaze sharpened.

“You counted?”

“I was bored.”

“You have six books upstairs.”

“You have emotional avoidance downstairs.”

Alessandro entered at precisely the wrong moment.

Or the right one.

Depends on perspective.

“I can come back.”

“No,” Marcus said.

“Yes,” I said.

Alessandro paused.

Marcus glared.

“Stay.”

I sighed dramatically.

Alessandro placed a file on the desk.

“We identified one shooter.”

That ended the teasing.

Marcus opened the file.

A photograph showed a lean man in his fifties.

“Name?”

“Matteo Rinaldi. Former enforcer for the Ricci organization.”

Marcus looked up.

“Ricci?”

Lorenzo’s voice came from the doorway.

Everyone turned.

His arm was in a sling. His face was pale, but he stood without assistance.

The doctor hovered behind him looking furious.

“You are supposed to be in bed,” the doctor said.

Lorenzo ignored him.

Marcus did not.

“Sit down before you bleed on my floor.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.

“Your floor?”

“My villa.”

“You bought Sofia’s aunt’s house?”

“Yes.”

Something complicated moved through Lorenzo’s expression.

“That explains why she never answered my offer.”

“What offer?”

“I tried to buy it twelve years ago.”

Marcus stared.

Then pointed at a chair.

“Sit.”

Lorenzo sat.

The doctor muttered obscenities in Italian and left.

Marcus pushed the photograph across.

“You know him?”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

Lorenzo studied the face.

“The Ricci organization helped Carlo Valentino arrange my imprisonment. They were powerful in Calabria then. Smuggling. Weapons. Political corruption.”

“And now?”

“Weaker, but not gone.”

Alessandro leaned against the desk.

“Why attack today?”

“Because they know I resurfaced.”

“That doesn’t explain Marcus.”

Lorenzo looked at him.

“Yes, it does.”

Marcus’s expression hardened.

“Talk.”

“The men who kept me imprisoned weren’t just paid to hold me. They were protecting something.”

“What?”

Lorenzo hesitated.

I saw Marcus’s patience evaporating.

“Everyone in this family has a terrible habit of delaying the important part.”

Lorenzo almost smiled at me.

Marcus noticed.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Lorenzo’s faint amusement disappeared.

“Carlo Valentino and the Riccis built a financial network in the late eighties. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. Properties. Political payments. Enough evidence to destroy several families and expose public officials across Italy and the United States.”

Alessandro slowly straightened.

“The Valentino ledger.”

Lorenzo looked at him.

“You’ve heard of it?”

“As a rumor.”

Marcus frowned.

“I haven’t.”

“Because most people who searched for it died.”

“Comforting.”

I folded my arms.

“Where is it?”

Lorenzo looked directly at Marcus.

“Your mother had it.”

Silence.

Marcus’s face emptied.

“No.”

“She discovered it while searching through Giovanni’s documents. She planned to use the information to force Carlo to release me.”

“What happened?”

“Carlo learned she had copied the records.”

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched.

“He threatened you. Sofia hid the copy somewhere he couldn’t find it.”

“And then?”

“She stopped speaking about it.”

Marcus stood.

“You’re telling me my mother had evidence that could destroy these people, and twenty-two years later they’re still hunting for it?”

“They believe she gave it to me.”

“Did she?”

“No.”

“Then why target me?”

“Because you are the only person she would have trusted more.”

Marcus stared.

“I was fourteen.”

“Yes.”

“So she gave a fourteen-year-old criminal evidence worth killing over?”

“I don’t know.”

Marcus slammed both hands onto the desk.

“Then stop speaking as if you do!”

The room shook with his anger.

Lorenzo did not react.

I did.

“Marcus.”

He turned away.

I stood and approached.

“Look at me.”

He did not.

I put my hand against his back.

After several seconds, his shoulders lowered.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I don’t have time not to be fine.”

“You’re allowed five minutes.”

He gave me a sideways look.

“Five?”

“Seven if you behave.”

Lorenzo studied us quietly.

Marcus noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop looking.”

“You love her.”

Marcus’s expression became dangerous.

“That is none of your business.”

“It is when she’s the only person in this room who can get you to breathe.”

Marcus looked like he wanted to throw him through the wall.

I stepped between them.

“We can schedule the father-son violence later.”

Both men looked offended.

I blinked.

“Oh, come on. You even make the same expression.”

Alessandro made a choking noise.

Marcus pointed toward the door.

“You too.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly.”

Alessandro left.

Coward.

Lorenzo lowered his head, hiding what looked suspiciously like a smile.

Marcus turned to me.

“You find this entertaining?”

“Only because nobody is currently shooting.”

“That can change.”

I kissed his cheek.

“Threats don’t work on me anymore.”

“That is becoming a serious marital problem.”

Then my gaze fell on Sofia’s unopened envelope.

The humor disappeared.

I picked it up.

Marcus’s body stiffened.

“Arya.”

“You don’t have to read it.”

I placed it in his hands.

“But maybe she deserves to finally be heard.”

Marcus stared at the handwriting.

Lorenzo stood.

“I’ll leave you.”

Marcus looked up.

“No.”

It surprised all of us.

Lorenzo slowly sat again.

Marcus broke the old wax seal.

Inside were four pages.

His hands trembled.

He unfolded them.

The first lines were in Italian.

He read silently.

Then stopped.

“Read it aloud,” I whispered.

He swallowed.

“My beautiful boy.”

His voice broke immediately.

He shut his eyes.

I moved beside him.

His free hand found mine.

He continued.

“If you are ever given this letter, then I failed to tell you the truth myself, and for that I am sorry.”

Lorenzo lowered his head.

Marcus kept reading.

“You were born from love, Marcus. Whatever anyone tells you, remember that first. Lorenzo De Luca is your father. Giovanni knows this, and his anger has shaped our lives since the day you were born.”

Marcus’s grip tightened painfully around my fingers.

“I stayed because Giovanni promised that if I left, he would kill Lorenzo and take you from me. I believed him. Perhaps that makes me weak. Perhaps someday you will hate me for choosing fear.”

“No,” Marcus whispered.

My heart cracked.

He read on.

“But every morning I looked at you and knew that staying meant I could still hold you. I could still make your breakfast. I could still hear you laugh. I chose whatever path kept you close.”

Tears filled Marcus’s eyes.

He did not wipe them away.

“I need you to know that Giovanni’s cruelty is not inside you. Blood does not decide what kind of man you become. Your choices will.”

The room was silent except for Marcus’s breathing.

“When you protect someone weaker, you are yourself. When you show kindness although the world has given you none, you are yourself. When you love, even though love frightens you, you are yourself.”

Marcus stopped again.

I rested my head against his shoulder.

He kept going.

“There is something hidden beneath the chapel floor where you used to light candles for me when we visited Sicily. You called it the little church in the clouds.”

Marcus looked up sharply.

“The church.”

Lorenzo stood.

“The church where we met today?”

Marcus nodded.

The letter continued.

“If danger ever follows you because of me, find the angel with the broken wing. Beneath it is what Carlo feared I would reveal. Do not use it for revenge. Use it only to make yourself free.”

Alessandro appeared again at the door.

Apparently he had been summoned by instinct.

Marcus handed him the letter.

“Get me photographs of the church interior.”

“Already scanning footage.”

Within minutes, a drone image filled the monitor.

Marcus zoomed in.

At the back of the church stood a row of old stone angels.

One was damaged.

Its left wing broken.

Lorenzo whispered, “Sofia.”

Marcus picked up his weapon.

I stared.

“You are not going there tonight.”

His expression said otherwise.

“Marcus.”

“If the Riccis attacked us there, they may know about the church.”

“And they will expect you to return.”

“Exactly.”

“That was not an argument in your favor.”

Lorenzo stood.

“She’s right.”

Marcus turned on him.

“Do not team up with my wife.”

“I’m beginning to understand why she does it.”

“Lorenzo.”

“I’ll go.”

“No.”

“You’re injured.”

“So?”

“You can barely lift your arm.”

“I only need one.”

“No one is going alone,” I said.

Three male heads turned toward me.

I pointed at all of them.

“Apparently I’m the only person who remembers we established this rule.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed.

“You are absolutely not coming.”

I smiled sweetly.

“Then neither are you.”

“You cannot stop me.”

“No. But I can call Teresa and tell her you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Marcus looked horrified.

Lorenzo frowned.

“Who is Teresa?”

“The only person Marcus fears.”

“I do not fear Teresa.”

His phone rang.

He checked it.

Teresa.

I had texted her five minutes earlier.

Marcus stared at me.

I smiled.

He answered.

“Hello, Teresa.”

Her voice was loud enough that I heard Italian fury from three feet away.

Marcus closed his eyes.

Lorenzo began laughing.

Actually laughing.

Marcus pointed at him while listening to Teresa.

“This changes nothing.”

Lorenzo laughed harder.

For one absurd minute, despite gunmen and secrets and the possibility of an international criminal conspiracy, I saw what this family might have looked like without tragedy.

Marcus annoyed.

Lorenzo amused.

Me in the middle.

It hurt more than I expected.

Eventually, Marcus ended the call.

“She threatened to fly here.”

“She loves you.”

“She threatened me with a wooden spoon.”

“Both can be true.”

Marcus shook his head.

Then looked at the church image again.

His expression turned serious.