Todos los capítulos de The Don's Secret Heir: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

Valentina POV The heavy oak door of Safe House Four splintered inward with a crack that sounded like a gunshot. "Cellar, now!" Luca hissed, his hand clamping around my upper arm like an iron vice. He shoved me toward the narrow service door concealed beneath the grand staircase. Matteo’s little fingers dug into my neck so tightly I could barely breathe. He wasn't crying anymore; he was frozen, his tiny body vibrating with a terror too big for his four years. I pulled him tighter against my chest, shielding his head with my forearm as I bolted down the dark, damp stone steps. Behind us, Sofia didn't run. She stood at the top of the landing, her stolen sidearm raised, dark eyes completely unblinking. Crack! Crack! Two controlled shots echoed off the high foyer ceiling, checking the first wave of tactical operatives pushing through the ruined front entrance. A man shrieked, dropping his weapon as he collapsed onto the flagstones. Sofia dove through the cellar door a second later,

Valentina POV"I gave you five years of clean ledgers, Nikolai. You owe me at least three minutes."Static hissed over the line, echoing through the hollow iron mouthpiece of the rain-slicked payphone. Out on the narrow mountain pass, the storm battered the metal hood of the booth, sending sheets of freezing water cascading over the glass panes."Three minutes is expensive, Valentina," Nikolai Markov’s gravelly voice replied from Zurich, clipped and devoid of its usual warmth. "Especially when Donna Carmela’s attorneys sent a red-flag notice to every private bank from Geneva to Luxembourg two hours ago."My breath hitched, fogging the cold glass. My fingers tightened around the greasy receiver until my knuckles turned bone-white."My emergency off-ledger reserves are held under shell accounts," I said, forcing my voice into a low, steady register despite the panic clawing at my throat. "They have nothing to do with the Ricci estate. You verified

Marco POV"Then stop breathing so close to my mouth," Valentina had whispered back at the villa, her hands holding the suture thread taut.I hadn't backed away. Instead, I pulled the final knot tight myself, my thumb brushing the curve of her jaw, drinking in the sharp intake of her breath before I finally forced my hands to let go. Leaving that bed—leaving her skin and the quiet warmth of Villa Spada—felt like pulling a knife from my own ribs. But the shadow of five years couldn't be stitched shut with thread.While the storm raged outside and Matteo slept under Luca’s watchful eye in the main hall, Luca had motioned me toward the courtyard archway. Rain dripped from his black tactical jacket as he pulled a faded pocket notebook from his collar pocket."Carmela didn't kill Enzo five years ago," Luca had told me in a low whisper by the hearth. "She paid him off, barred him from the city center, and had him blacklisted from the syndicate. But a d

Marco POV"We have thirty thousand Euros, two sidearms, and a toddler. What's the grand strategic plan, Don Marco?"Luca’s voice was as dry as the cold hearth, his dark eyes rimmed with red as he poured lukewarm, stale coffee into three mismatched ceramic mugs. Morning light bled through the tall, leaded windows of Villa Spada, cutting through the lingering haze of rain and coal smoke.I didn't answer right away. Sitting at the long oak trestle table, my hand remained rested over Valentina’s where her fingers lay on the worn wood.Every time she shifted, the quiet rustle of her sweater against mine brought back the dark, breathless hours on the rug—the taste of her tears, the soft gasp of her surrender, and the absolute collapse of the wall between us. My thumb traced slow,

Marco POV"Hold still. If I prick you with this needle, Marco, don't blame my hands."Valentina stood inches from my chest, a row of brass tailor's pins held between her lips, her dark hair pinned loosely at the nape of her neck. The morning sun streamed through the high arched windows, catching the fine dust suspended in the air. I held my breath, every muscle in my torso rigid as her cool, slender fingers smoothed the raw ivory linen down the center of my chest."I'm not moving," I rasped, though my heart was hammering against her knuckles like a trapped beast."You're breathing too hard," she murmured, pulling a pin from her lips and sliding it with practiced precision through the fabric at my collarbone. Her fingertips brushed the warm skin of my neck, sending a sharp spark straight down