All Chapters of The Don's Secret Heir: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

 POV: Valentina"Marco! Stay with me! Marco!"My voice tore out of my throat, raw and desperate against the pounding rain. His head was heavy in my lap, dark blood washing out of his hair and staining the wet gravel beneath us. His eyes were wide, glassed over, staring right past me into the dark before his eyelids fluttered and closed."Cruz! Help me! He’s hit!"Hands grabbed my shoulders from behind, hauling me backward off the ground."Get in the van! Move!" Cruz barked.He didn't wait for me to process it. He scooped Marco’s limp body off the gravel, draping him over his shoulder like a dead weight. Two of his men laid down a wall of suppressive fire toward the loading dock, the loud, rhythmic thwip-thwip-thwip of their rifles drowning out the storm as Cruz shoved me into the back of an unmarked black utility van.Cruz dumped Marco onto the metal floorboard and slammed the sliding door shut. The vehicle lu

POV: ValentinaThe damp heat of the city hit us the second we stepped out of the old apartment building onto the street Unlike the sharp, cool rain of Tuscany, the air in streets was thick and heavy with exhaust fumes, roasted nuts, and the metallic tang of the nearby river. Cobblestones clattered under the wheels of the heavy black stroller I pushed, while the low hum of Spanish chatter drifted out from the open doors of nearby bakeries and butcher shops.I kept one hand resting inside my oversized cardigan, fingers brushing the smooth leather strap of the cross-body bag where our passports and cash were stashed. My eyes darted constantly, scanning the cracked sidewalks, the motorbikes idling at the corner, the dark tint of parked sedans. Carmela’s men were out here somewhere, watching from a distance to make sure I didn't break our deal, but every unfamiliar shadow still made my heart hammer against my ribs.Matteo sat upright in the stroller, his small hands clutching the plastic

POV: ValentinaThe iron gates of Escuela San Martín were painted a dull navy blue, chipping at the hinges where the ocean humidity had gotten under the metal.Inside, the courtyard was a wide, sun-drenched square surrounded by yellow brick classrooms. The air smelled of chalk, fresh paint, and the faint, sweet scent of fried dough from the kitchen down the hall. Children’s laughter echoed off the high walls, high-pitched and chaotic—a sound that felt so far removed from high-security villas and wet gravel courtyards that my chest physically loosened for the first time in weeks."We focus on early literacy, art, and social integration," the headmistress, Señora Alvarez, said as she walked us down the open-air corridor. She was a round, cheerful woman in her fifties, wearing a bright green ap

POV: ValentinaThe smell of freshly ironed cotton, steam, and cedar wood had completely taken over the small shop on Calle San Lorenzo.It was a tiny space—formerly an old shoe repair shop—with tall arched windows facing the street and exposed brick walls that Sofia and I spent three days scrubbing with wire brushes. We couldn't afford a commercial space near the financial district, but here, nestled between a butcher shop and a bakery, we were right in the heart of the neighborhood's working pulse."The fabric supplier from the docks just dropped these off," Sofia said, setting a heavy bolt of linen onto our newly assembled wooden cutting table. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, a smudge of chalk dusting her cheek. "Three different weights of durable cotton and local linen. And he accepted cash up front, no tax ID needed for small orders."I looked up from the cutting board, running my fingers along the rough weave of the fabric. "Did

POV: MarcoThe dining room at the Florence villa felt more like a mausoleum than a place to eat.High ceilings, stone archways, and a massive mahogany table built to seat twenty people. Tonight, only three places were set with heavy sterling silver and crystal glasses. A fire crackled in the wide stone fireplace, throwing long, flickering shadows across the polished floorboards.I sat near the head of the table, wearing a crisp dark suit Carmela’s tailors had delivered to my quarters earlier that afternoon. My left shoulder was still bound beneath my jacket, and a dull, throbbing ache echoed behind my left temple whenever I turned my head too quickly.To my right sat a young woman I had never seen in my life.She wore a tailored navy dress that fell neatly past h