The Don's Secret Heir のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

POV: Valentina"Five hundred short, Don Guillermo," I said, holding the thin stack of bills between my fingers as I stood at the counter of his dry goods store. "We agreed on fifteen hundred for the custom aprons and the reinforced tool belts. The materials alone cost half of this."Don Guillermo didn't even look up from his ledger. He flipped a page, his thumb stained with purple ink, and waved a dismissive hand toward the street."The stitching on the left pocket of the third apron was uneven, señorita," he grunted, clicking his ballpoint pen. "I had to trim loose threads myself. Consider the five hundred a deduction for quality control. Take it or leave it, but that's all you're getting from me today.""I spent four hours hand-stitching those seam stress points so they wouldn't rip under the weight of your iron tools," I snapped, my voice tightening as heat rushed to my face. "You checked the entire batch yesterday morning and said they were per

POV: MarcoThe tall oak table in the sunroom was buried under layers of architectural drafting paper, fabric swatches, and charcoal pencils.Outside, the afternoon rain tapped rhythmically against the glass, but inside, the room smelled of cedar wood, graphite, and the sharp, floral perfume Deborah wore.She leaned over a massive floor plan of the south gallery, a silver mechanical pencil held between her slender fingers. Her blonde hair was pinned up loosely with a tortoiseshell clip, a few stray strands framing her face as she worked."If we remove the non-load-bearing partition here," Deborah said, tapping the paper with the end of her pencil, "we create a continuous sightline from the central rotunda all the way to the garden terrace. It respects the original sixteenth-century layout while letting in four times as much light."I leaned in closer, studying the dark ink lines and precise measurements she had drafted by hand. "You did all these el

POV: MarcoThe trattoria off the Piazza del Campo was quiet, filled only with the clink of silverware, the soft murmur of afternoon diners, and the rich scent of roasted garlic and wine.Across the small round table, Deborah was speaking animatedly about marble quarries in Carrara, her eyes bright as she gestured with her fork. She looked effortless—a vision of quiet elegance in a cream cashmere sweater, perfectly framed by the rustic brick arches of the restaurant.I smiled politely, nodding at the appropriate moments, but my skin felt prickled and hot.Two tables over, sitting alone near the arched doorway, a man in a dark suede jacket had been watching me for the past twenty minutes. He hadn't touched his espresso. Every time I shifted, his eyes followed—s

POV: ValentinaThe small dining table was completely buried in swatches of linen, silk ribbon, and ledger books.Sofia sat across from me with her reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose, her pen scratching rhythmically as she calculated the material costs for the autumn hotel linens. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of Matteo humming to himself in his room, playing with his wooden blocks."Don Guillermo's initial deposit covers the thread and the extra shears," Sofia said, flipping a page in the ledger. "But if the client from the boutique on Calle Corrientes delays her final payment again, we'll be tight on rent next month."I didn't answer right away. My fingers were busy guiding a needle through a heavy crimson border, but my mind was miles away, anchored to the tall, tattooed shadow that had stood in our doorway last night.Sofia stopped writing. Her phone chimed on the table—a

POV: MarcoThe dark raspy voice on the phone sent a cold, violent shockwave straight down my spine."Renzo..." I breathed out, stepping away from the bedroom door, my hand tightening around the receiver until my knuckles turned white. "What do you know?""More than the lies Carmela has been feeding you since you woke up," Renzo answered, his tone smooth, weathered, and entirely unbothered by the ghost of authority in my voice. "Listen to me closely, Marco. I don't have much time before your mother's ears pick up this line."I leaned against the corner of my mahogany desk, my heart thumping a heavy, irregular rhythm against my ribs. "Who is Valentina?"A deep, quiet sigh echoed through the speaker from the Tuscan workshop.