All Chapters of The Don's Daughter: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

VITTORIA'S POVThe music swelled as the doors opened.Not white.Not lace.Black.The room fell silent in the way rooms do when something unexpected but undeniable enters it.Every step I took echoed, measured and deliberate. The train of my gown whispered behind me like a shadow that refused to let go. I felt eyes on me from every direction. Curiosity. Shock. Appraisal. Fear. Respect.Good.I kept my chin lifted, my posture perfect despite the sling hidden beneath layers of silk and bone-structured fabric. Anastasia had worked miracles. The corset held me like armor. The gems caught the light like stars swallowed by night.At the end of the aisle stood Nikolai.For a moment, the world narrowed to him alone.Black suit. Immaculate. His dark hair combed back, jaw set, shoulders squared. But his eyes betrayed him. They softened the instant they found mine.He didn’t smile.He looked awed.I walked toward him like this was exactly where I belonged.When I reached his side, his hand brush

NIKOLAI'S POVThree weeks.Three weeks since the gunshots shattered the night.Three weeks since I carried my wife out of our wedding covered in blood.Three weeks since Vittoria Guerra De Luca stopped moving, stopped speaking, stopped looking at me with those calculating green eyes that haunted my sleep.The manor had never felt so empty while being so full.Cece’s quiet footsteps echoed softly through the halls. The staff spoke in whispers. Even the walls seemed to know better than to make noise. Every room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting.Waiting for her.Vittoria lay in our bed, exactly where the doctors had instructed. Machines had come and gone. IVs removed. Wounds stitched, cleaned, monitored. Her body healed faster than anyone expected. Of course it did. She had always been built to endure.But her mind had retreated somewhere I could not follow.Every morning, I woke beside her and told her about the day. About Cece. About the estate. About the wedding she barely

VITTORIA'S POVFor a moment, the room ceased to exist.Not in the dramatic sense. Not like shock in stories where the world blurs and ears ring. No. This was quieter. Colder.Stefano is the father.The words landed somewhere deep in my chest and stayed there, heavy and poisonous.I didn’t blink.I didn’t inhale sharply.I didn’t scream.I sat on the bed, spine straight, hands resting calmly on my thighs, eyes fixed on nothing at all.Inside me, something ancient shifted.Stefano.My brother.My dead brother.My fingers curled slowly, nails pressing into my palms hard enough to draw blood. I welcomed the sensation, the pain. It anchored me.Kept me present.Kept me grounded.I had killed him quickly.Too quickly.A single bullet. Clean. Efficient. A Mercy he never deserved.Nikolai was watching me closely now. I could feel it, the weight of his gaze like a hand hovering inches from a wound, afraid to touch but unable to look away.At first, I knew what he saw.Nothing.My face remained

VITTORIA'S POV Breakfast was quiet.Not peaceful but quiet in the way predators fall silent before they strike.Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the dining room, illuminating polished wood, crystal, and linen so pristine it felt almost ironic. I sat at the long table beside Nikolai, my posture relaxed, my movements economical.Army-green cargo pants clung to my hips, a long-sleeve black crop top revealing my stomach and the angry red scar where a bullet had grazed me only weeks ago.I barely noticed it anymore.Pain had long since become background noise.Across from us, the seats remained empty. Such a big table for only 2 people. Nikolai looked immaculate, as always, a fresh custom Armani suit, dark and precise, every line intentional. He looked like control given human form. The contrast between us wasn’t lost on me; him polished and powerful, me dressed like I could disappear into the forest at a moment’s notice.I liked the contrast.He had told me earlier that he

NIKOLAI'S POVVittoria sat astride my lap on the leather couch, her weight settled against me like she had always belonged there. One knee pressed into the cushion beside my thigh, the other hooked around my hip, grounding herself while her hands cradled my face.Her mouth was on mine, warm and unhurried, kissing me like she wasn’t asking for permission and wasn’t offering mercy either.I let her set the pace.God help me, I always did.Her lips parted against mine, breath brushing my mouth, and I felt the shift immediately, the moment where a kiss stopped being a kiss and started becoming a decision. My hands slid up her back, stopping just below her shoulder blades, thumbs pressing into the heat there. Not exploring. Not yet.Control.She tasted like something sharp. Like danger and intention. It was so addictive.She broke the kiss only to drag her mouth along my jaw, slow and deliberate, teeth grazing skin just enough to make my breath hitch. I felt her smile against my neck befor