Chapter 2 - THE VALENTI ESTATE
The transition from the blood-slicked floor of Lumina to the sterile, clinical luxury of a private medical wing happened in a blur of pain, roaring sirens I couldn't see, and a dark-windowed car that drove as if traffic laws were mere suggestions.
I drifted in and out of consciousness.
There was a man’s voice—deep, authoritative, speaking fluent Italian into a burner phone with a coldness that made my skin prickle. There were large, warm hands holding mine when the pain spiked so violently that I arched off the leather seat, trying to swallow a scream.
“Stay with me, piccola,” a voice murmured against my temple. Not a threat. A command backed by sheer willpower. “You saved my son. You will not die in my car.”
When I finally woke up, the clanking radiator of my studio apartment was gone.
Instead, I was lying face-down on an orthopedic mattress covered in high-thread-count Egyptian cotton that smelled faintly of cedarwood and crisp linen. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows draped in heavy velvet, revealing a bedroom larger than my entire apartment back in the city.
Every breath sent a stabbing pain across my back, where dozens of stitches held my ruined skin together.
“You’re awake.”
The voice came from a leather armchair positioned near the corner of the room.
Enzo Valenti sat cross-legged, a heavy leather-bound ledger open on his lap, though his dark eyes were fixed entirely on me. He had discarded his suit jacket; his crisp white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, corded forearms covered in subtle, dark tattoos.
I tried to push myself up, a gasp escaping my lips as the stitches pulled.
Enzo moved with startling speed. He was across the room before I could blink, his large, warm hand gently pressing against my shoulder.
“Don't move,” he ordered, though his tone lacked the terrifying edge it had carried in the restaurant. It was low, grounded, almost hesitant. “The doctor said the lacerations were deep. Three inches lower and the glass would have severed a major muscle group in your back. You lost a lot of blood, Maya.”
I froze, staring up at him with wide eyes. “You know my name.”
“I know everything about you, Maya Lin,” he said smoothly, walking back to the table to pour a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. He held it out, helping me tilt my head so I could drink without straining my back. “I know you grew up in Chicago foster care. I know you work two jobs to pay off debts left behind by a worthless ex-boyfriend named David. I know your rent is four months overdue, and your favorite meal is cheap takeout pad thai eaten straight from the box while watching old movies.”
A cold shiver raced down my spine, overriding the throbbing pain in my back.
“You had me investigated while I was unconscious?” I whispered, my voice tight with sudden panic.
“In my world, information is oxygen,” Enzo replied, his face devoid of apology. He set the glass down and leaned against the foot of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. “When a total stranger throws herself over my only son and takes a cascade of shattered crystal meant for his heart, I don't just send a thank-you card. I verify who she is. I make sure she isn't a ghost sent by my enemies.”
“And am I?” I shot back, a flash of defensive adrenaline overriding my fear. “Does a ghost owe four months of back rent? Do assassins wear electrical tape on their shoes?”
Enzo stared at me for a long, silent moment. Then, the corners of his carved mouth twitched upward into the ghost of a true smile. It transformed his face, stripping away the ruthless aura of the crime lord and revealing a devastatingly handsome man beneath.
“No,” he murmured softly. “An assassin would have had better footwear. And she wouldn't have cried over a spilled water pitcher.”
Before I could formulate a retort, the heavy double doors of the bedroom swung open with a soft click.
A small head peered into the room. Messy dark hair. Wide hazel eyes.
“Can I come in?” a small voice whispered.
Enzo’s entire demeanor softened instantly. The dangerous predator melted away, replaced by a father whose entire universe revolved around the boy standing in the doorway.
“Come, caro,” Enzo said, his voice dropping into an octave of pure warmth. “She’s awake.”
Leo crept into the room, holding the same plastic dinosaur from the restaurant in his right hand. He walked slowly toward the side of the bed, his big eyes wide as he looked at my pale face and the hospital gown draped loosely over my bandaged shoulders.
“Are you broken?” Leo asked softly, his lower lip trembling slightly.
My heart melted. All the fear, the pain, and the uncertainty vanished in a heartbeat. I managed a weak smile, reaching out my hand.
“Just a little dented, buddy,” I whispered. “How are you? Did any of the glass touch you?”
Leo shook his head, climbing carefully onto the edge of the mattress, mindful of my legs. He gently laid his plastic T-Rex right beside my pillow.
“Papa said you flew like a superhero,” Leo announced proudly, looking up at Enzo, who stood watching us with an expression of profound, quiet awe. “He said nobody is ever allowed to hurt you again because you're part of our pack now.”
I looked up at Enzo, my breath catching in my throat.
May you like
Part of our pack now.
It sounded like a promise. Or a death sentence. In Enzo Valenti’s world, nothing was ever simple.
