The Don's Replacement Bride

Valentina's POV

My wedding dress was still white when the first bullet flew past me.

I remember the scream tearing out of my own throat before I even understood what was happening — the glass shattering above the altar, the priest diving for cover, the sudden weight of a man's arm hauling me down and his body folding over mine like a wall.

Nikolai De Luca didn't flinch. He didn't even look afraid. He just covered me like it was instinct, like keeping me alive was the only thing his body knew how to do in that moment and I hated him a little less for it, even as I hated everything else about becoming his wife.

But that's not where this starts.

Three days before that, I was just a girl carrying groceries her father, or perhaps step-father refused to help with.

"Hurry up!" Dad's voice cracked ahead of me in the parking lot, already halfway to the car. "Once I get to the car, I'm leaving."

"Please, dad," I begged, dropping a bag to catch up. I was halfway back for the rest when tires screamed against the asphalt — a sound sharp enough to split the whole afternoon in half.

A car had skidded to a stop right beside him. The front door opened first. Combat boots. Tailored trousers. Then a woman stepped out, a leather jacket fitted close, pulling the back door open like she'd done it a thousand times before.

And then him.

He was the tallest man I'd ever seen in Miami. Rings caught the light on every finger as he raised his hand, and my father, who never bowed to anyone, went still.

The woman pulled a knife from her waistband and flicked it once before catching it clean. My stomach dropped as she stepped toward dad.

"No!" I screamed, running.

She threw the knife at the man beside her. He caught it without looking, and my father dropped to his knees like he was praying.

Whatever words passed between them, I never heard. They both turned to look at me before the woman said something to him, got back in the car, and they were gone before I reached dad.

"Who were those people!" I hauled dad up by the arm. "Why did you kneel?"

"Get in the car, Valentina."

"Tell me who they are!" I countered.

"I said get in the car!" His eyes were red, his voice cracking in a way I'd never heard. I flinched and obeyed.

He said nothing the whole drive home. The moment we were through the door, he called for my stepsister. "Camila!"

She stepped out of the kitchen, mug in hand, already annoyed because his voice for her was always softer than the one he used on me. Until now.

"What is it, Papa?" She asked lazily.

"He wants his money." Dad finally announced.

My chest caved in. "The mafia Don. The one you mentioned."

"Yes."

"What?" My voice cracked. "I told you not to take that loan—"

"Just stop, okay?" Camila cut in. "It's just a loan."

Dad's voice, when it finally came, sounded like it belonged to someone else. "We pay back tomorrow… or he takes one of you."

And within me, I already knew whose name he meant.