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The Mafia's Substitute Bride 170
Valentina woke before the sun, and ur was definitely not because she was well-rested. Her back ached from the awkward way she’d collapsed across the couch the night before, fully dressed, and half-covered by a campaign jacket she hadn’t had the energy to hang up. Her eyes were dry and so was her throat.She lay still for a few seconds, watching the light shift against the wall. Her first instinct was to reach for her phone. But she didn't.Because she knew what was waiting for her — or rather, what wasn’t.No text from Cam. Still.The last one Val had sent had just said, “Let me know if you need anything.” The one before that, “Hey. Can I drop something off?” Both unread. She had reread them at least ten times in the last twenty-four hours, trying to decide if she’d worded them wrong. If she’d said too much, or too little.But none of it mattered now.Because she knew the reason Cam hadn’t replied probably had less to do with the wording — and everything to do with the address she’d g
The Mafia's Substitute Bride 169
Valentina’s heels were off before she made it out of the building. The last outfit change left a thin layer of shimmer across her collarbone and cheekbones — more glitter than glow at this point. A makeup assistant tried to dab her face one last time before she exited, but she waved her off without a word and kept walking. At this point it was too much. One more later of makeup and her face would fall.The sun was starting to go down, casting that golden hour photographers swore by. She didn’t care. She hadn’t cared since the second look. Maybe even before that. The day had blurred into a cycle of camera flashes, laughter, and stylists asking her to “just tilt a little more that way.” Her back ached from holding poses that didn’t feel natural, and her hands were still faintly stained from wiping under her eyes between takes.She definitely did not think this through.The pay, and need for escape enticed her.The parking lot behind the studio was mostly empty, except for a matte black
The Mafia's Substitute Bride 168
Alecia hadn't seen sunlight in three days.The curtains were drawn, casting a dull, muted gray over the apartment. Plates stacked near the sink were starting to smell faintly sour. Her room was a cluttered sprawl of open notebooks, loose receipts, and coffee mugs with dried rims. She didn't know when she'd last eaten a full meal. Her mouth tasted like so sour and bitter, and her eyes burned constantly, but every time she got into bed, her mind ran circles around itself until she crawled back out.She lay on the couch instead. Not sleeping, just watching time pass through the soft glow of her TV menu screen. She didn’t turn it on as she didn’t want noise. Noise felt like pressure, and she couldn’t take pressure right now, also all the things on there were probably going to be about Matteo's death, or her whore of a sister trying out the model slash ambassador industry.She just had it all easy.The envelope was in her drawer and she hadn’t touched it in two days, but she hadn’t stopped
The Mafia's Substitute Bride 167
Alecia had buried her face into the crook of her arm hours ago, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. The room had sunk into a silence that felt thick and suffocating, and it settled like a film over everything. The windows were open. The curtains shifted in the breeze, she knew it was going to rain.She wasn’t sure how long she’d been curled like that. Her arm had gone numb and her face was swollen and patchy with the last of her dried tears, unrecognizable in the faint reflection on the glass door. She felt weak.And the photo was still in her hand, and pressed into her palm like it had carved itself there.It hadn’t disappeared, no matter how many times she flipped it or looked away. No matter how long she squeezed her eyes shut. It existed—and so did everything it had pulled up from whatever place she’d spent years trying to lock away.FLASHBACKYEARS AGO…It was summer. The estate was tucked somewhere far off in the countryside, wide and sunbleached, meant to be peaceful. But to
The Mafia's Substitute Bride 166
The loft was all white walls and wide windows, soaked in soft natural light that made everything look cleaner, richer, and a little too perfect. A curated kind of perfection, carefully scattered greenery in matte black pots, and an entire crew that moved around her like she was a fragile, valuable thing that couldn’t be touched unless necessary.Valentina stood near the window, arms folded loosely while a stylist adjusted the structured lines of her coat. The black fabric was sharp and expensive, tailored to her exact frame. A slash of emerald green cut through it near the waist, just enough to break the monochrome, and make it look bold without trying too hard. She looked like a woman that commanded authority everywhere she went.Which, she assumed, was the point.A foundation campaign for dignity, rebirth, new beginnings… or whatever the slogan had boiled down to. She hadn’t asked questions. Aisha's PR team had sent over the contract with a discreet suggestion and a generous payment
The Mafia's Substitute Bride 165
The rain hadn’t started, but the clouds looked like they were holding a grudge.Valentina sat back in the seat of the sleek black car as it turned the final corner toward the building. Her arms were crossed, legs tucked neatly to the side like she wasn’t entirely committed to stepping out yet. Her phone buzzed in her lap—another message from someone asking if she was “okay” or if she’d seen the morning coverage.She hadn’t responded to anyone, even the people she barely knew message her, she was sick with their fake sympathies. She hadn’t even looked in a mirror before leaving the house. The deal had been sitting in her drawer for three days, and she hadn’t even opened the attachment emailed to her after the first skim. But this morning after her small talk with Lucas and the news report, she was so done trying to manually keep her sanity in check.Because honestly, if she stayed home for one more second pacing that hallway, waiting for her father’s name to appear on a headline or Luc
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