Chapter 7

Nyla's POV 

“Ms. Caruso!” A man in his late sixties or so exclaimed the moment I stepped out of the vehicle; behind him were staff dressed in uniform as they proceeded to take my luggage inside the mansion.

“Mr. Valenti,” I forced a smile, one that didn't meet my eyes, as I stretched out my hands for a handshake.

“You are even prettier than the rumors said.” He laughed heartily, and for a minute, I started questioning myself. Was this actually the same man that murdered my family in cold blood? 

I guess everyone wears a mask that fits properly, and this wasn't an exception.

“You are too kind, Mr. Valenti.” I forced a smile as we walked side by side towards the living room.

The hallway leading to the living room was silent with heavy air. Burgundy velvet curtains hung high over windows, thick enough to block out more than light. A Persian rug ran the length of the floor, its deep reds and golds swallowing our footsteps as we walked. Golden sconces cast long shadows that moved with us.

The living room was all power dressed as beauty. A crystal chandelier threw shards of light across polished leather chairs arranged around a marble fireplace. The flames inside burned slow and steady, and above them all, something that made my breath itch, something that reminded me of the main reason I was here. The painted crest, the symbol that represents power in the Valenti family, is the same one that was there that night.

One wall was lined with shelves of old books. Another held a black grand piano, gleaming in the corner. The room emanated a subtle aroma of lilies and cigar smoke, balancing sweetness and bitterness.

It was magnificent. But it wasn’t a room meant to make you comfortable; it was a room meant to remind you of who you were dealing with.

And it worked; I had fully entered into the lion's den, and there was no going back.

“Please have a seat; my son will be joining us in a few minutes,” he said with a smile. 

“I don't like waiting, Mr. Valenti,” I said flatly, pulling out a cigar from my pocket, feeling his eyes on me. The lighter clicked, and the flame flared up.

I lit the tip until it glowed like a live coal, then let the first pull sit in my lungs before I exhaled slowly and deliberately. The smoke curled upward, thick and lazy, drifting between us like a line he shouldn’t cross.

“Of course not, he’ll be here in no time,” he assured, forcing a polite smile. I didn’t bother to reply. I just took another drag, the ember burning brighter, the silence between us growing heavier with each breath of smoke until the door clicked open and a young, handsome man appeared. He seemed to be on a phone call, which he immediately ended, shoving the phone into his well-tailored black suit.

Luca Valenti, the CEO of Valenti Empire and my soon-to-be husband.

His face was unreadable and cold, but his handsomeness was undeniable. I took a glance at him and slowly took my cigar back to my lips, taking in a long drag.

Why was I feeling nervous all of a sudden?

“Who the hell is she?” He asked with a scoff, but I just kept mute; why bother answering when it's already obvious?

“Watch your tone, Luca,” his father quickly interrupted. “This woman comes from a family far more powerful than you realize,” he added.

“Then maybe you should have warned me I was walking into a goddamn trap,” he snapped angrily this time, not even trying to hide his disapproval.

The conversation between the father and son shows how much they would go to gain more power just left me in so much amusement.

I scoff silently. This is it! I would make them beg; I would make sure they pay for all the damages they caused my family.

“Do you speak?” He finally turned to me and asked in a dry voice, “Or do you only communicate through staring contests and smoke signals?”

I raised my head to meet his intense gaze. "Only when the conversation is worth my time," I murmured. 

“Charming,” he said under his breath loud enough for me to hear.

“She’s your fiancée,” his father interrupted smoothly. “Whether you like it or not.”

“She’s a stranger,” he said with a clenched jaw, his eyes narrowing.

“All marriages start that way.” 

I guess it does when it involves power and influence, so who was I kidding?After a conversation that was taking forever, I took a deep breath. 

“I have another meeting. If this is how the Valenti heir handles first impressions, I hope the second comes with less posturing.”

I left the room without any permission, not that I needed one.

The wedding was only a week away; the ink was already dry on whatever deal had been struck between Mr. Caruso, my foster father, and Mr. Velanti.

“It's part of the plan, Nyla. Don't you want to avenge your family's death?” He had asked back then.

But right now, I needed distance and space to breathe without the weight of the Valenti name pressing against my chest.

My mind suddenly flashes to my baby boy. I couldn't help but wonder how lonely he would feel without me being around. At least he had Clara.

The outside air was sharp; my driver, Matteo, straightened the moment he spotted me, pulling the car door open.

“Where to?” he asked in a careful tone.

“Just drive,” I muttered, sliding into the back seat of the car. The leather was cold against my skin; the faint smell of my cologne filled the car.

The gates of the Valenti estate swung open the moment it detected the car's movement. Even as the car eased onto the road, I kept my eyes on the passing city lights, trying to focus on their blur instead of the conversation I’d just escaped.

But then I noticed something else.

At first, it felt like a mere coincidence; a black sedan was trailing behind us, moving at a steady pace. But when we turned left, it turned left as well. When we slowed for the traffic light, it slowed too, giving us just enough distance in order not to grow suspicious.

“Matteo,” I leaned forward and whispered gently, “don’t take the next turn. Stay on the main road.”

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, but he didn’t comment. The engine’s low rumble filled the silence as the distance between us and the sedan stayed exactly the same.

A slow, cold awareness curled in my stomach. I wasn’t sure if it was the Valentis who had sent them… or someone who didn’t want me here, but I felt a tight twist in my stomach.

“Keep driving,” I murmured, my gaze still fixed on the rearview mirror.

Because whoever was in that car… they’d just made it clear I wasn’t leaving tonight without a fight.

Damn, we aren't married yet, and I was already seeing what it feels like to be a part of them.