Page 107 of The Hidden Heir

“We are. I certainly am.”

Truth is, I could argue with him about this, but that’s not the objective for tonight. It took me a while to figure things out, but now that the whole picture is coming into focus, I need to reach that conclusion sooner rather than later.

“Good for you, Detective Reece. Glad to see our city is protected by such upstanding warriors such as yourself. What’s the game plan, exactly?”

“I have to take you to him.”

“Then let’s go. I’m dying to hear the old man’s victory speech. He must’ve spent the past few months rehearsing it in his bedroom mirror,” I reply.

32

VALENTINA

There is a strange sense of comfort in being trapped in a familiar place. I grew up in this house. The living room is almost exactly as it was when I left it, with its heavy, high-end furniture and earth-colored textiles. My stepfather’s ridiculously expensive oil paintings adorn the walls, and a plethora of framed photographs rest on the mantelpiece.

I can hear Michael upstairs. Sometimes, he cries for me. Sometimes, he’s awfully quiet. My stepfather has a babysitter looking after him, and I hate the man with the fire of a thousand suns for everything he’s done to me. To us.

“I’m home!” Caroline announces as she walks through the door.

I’m tied to a chair, close enough to the window that I spotted the beam from her headlights when she pulled up. I wonder how many of Luca’s people are watching this place, and if any of them know that I’m inside.

My stomach churns when my stepsister comes in with a half smile.

“Oh, don’t look so glum. It’s almost over,” she says, eerily calm.

She used to seem so beautiful to me, so composed, occasionally abrasive. Had I known the truth, I never would’ve trusted her. I feel like the world’s biggest idiot.

“I don’t understand how you could do any of this,” I tell her. “Your father, I get. He lacks scruples and principles. But you⁠—”

She cuts me off and with an icy glare in her eyes says, “Don’t you dare say another word about Papa. You’re the reason we’re in this situation to begin with. Where is he, by the way?”

“Fuck if I know, Caroline. This isn’t my home anymore. I’m literally just a prisoner here,” I snap, feeling both angry and fearless at this point.

Caroline takes a deep breath and sits on the armrest for a bit. Her composure is beyond infuriating. The zip ties have already cut deeply into my wrists, and it hurts to even struggle in anger or desperation. All I can do is sit here and either wait for the inevitable bloody conclusion or figure a way out of this mess.

“It doesn’t matter. It will all be over soon anyway,” she says.

“What’s the plan exactly? If you wanted to grab me and Michael at the same time, why didn’t you just do it when you came to pick us up last night? Why’d you send Luca after us? I don’t understand.”

She laughs lightly. “Oh, you picked up on that.”

“On the fact that every other kidnapping attempt was a failure by design because I was on my own and not with my son? Yes, I’ve had some time to think while I’ve been sitting here.”

“The thing is, Valentina, there’s a bigger plan in motion. It’s not just you or Michael I’m after. It’s Luca, too. He’s a central piece of my strategy. And when you came back and he decided to marry you instead of me, I had to adjust.” She sighs deeply.

“That’s what this is about? Marrying Luca?”

“No, having a family of my own,” she replies. “You popped a kid out almost by mistake. I mean, one night with Stefano Petrucci and, boom, pregnant. Meanwhile, I’m praying for someone, especially a Petrucci, to want to marry me, infertile that I am, and well, I’m sure you understand.”

“I don’t. We were supposed to be sisters, Caroline.”

“We were until you decided your freedom mattered more,” she snaps. “What? Don’t you think I wanted my freedom at some point in this fucking life? I would’ve loved to become an architect, for starters. I wanted my own practice, buildings with my name on them. But no, I was born a Mancuso. I had a role to fill, even after I lost my chance at having children.”

I glare at her, disgusted. “I have a hard time feeling sorry for you right now.”

“And I don’t really give a shit about what you feel,” she shoots back. “The point is, all you had to do was have the baby. I would’ve raised him as my own. Papa would’ve negotiated something with the Petruccis. You would’ve gone somewhere off grid, away from us. I mean, that was the ideal plan. But Papa⁠—”

“Papa had the clear mind of a man in charge,” my stepfather cuts in as he walks into the living room with a glass of whiskey in his hand. “And rightfully so.”