Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 12

Chapter 12

ADRIAN

All evening, I found myself watching Valentina from the corner of my eye. She tried to smile and play her part, but her body betrayed her. During our first dance, she’d trembled like a leaf in my hands, and the memory of it lingered with me now, coiled tight in the back of my mind. That reaction didn’t bode well for what awaited us tonight.

Later, after finishing a dance with my father, she slipped out of the ballroom in a rush, her dress sweeping behind her like she was fleeing the scene. My father noticed too. He took his cane from one of his men and made his way over to me. His expression was unreadable.

“Would you excuse us for a moment, Rico?” Father asked politely.

Rico arched a brow but didn’t press. “I’ll dance with Isla.” With a curt nod, he crossed the room toward his wife, leaving Father and me standing together.

I turned toward him and asked in a clipped tone. “What’s the matter?”

Father leaned a little on his cane. His gaze followed the same path mine had taken moments ago, to the door Valentina had disappeared through. “Your girl is terrified,” he said evenly. “She’s trying to put on a brave face. God knows she’s been trained well enough to. But I can see it in her eyes. And so can everyone else who looks closely enough.”

I exhaled slowly. His words dug deeper than I cared to admit. My eyes stayed on the door as if staring long enough might bring her back. “Don’t call her my girl, Father. It makes me feel even older than I already do.”

A low chuckle rumbled from him, dry and knowing. “Maybe it’s good that you feel it. Maybe you should be reminded that the woman you’ve been given was still a child not long ago. That she’s not Serena, and she doesn’t need a man’s harshness thrown at her on the very first night. She needs patience.”

I frowned. My fingers brushed over the rim of my glass. Patience. It wasn’t something I’d ever been praised for. Discipline, yes. Control, absolutely. But patience? That felt like a luxury in our world, one I’d never been afforded.

Father’s eyes, still sharp despite age, held mine. “You need to be good to her, Adrian. For her sake, and for your own.”

I frowned, suddenly feeling irritated. “I have no intention of treating her poorly.”

The words came out clipped and defensive. Being good to her though, that was something else entirely. That would be difficult, no doubt.

Father didn’t back off. He never did. “Then maybe you should tell her. Talk to her before tonight. A few words could take some of her fears away, and it would be wise to ease them in advance.”

My jaw tightened. I stared at him, feeling the weight of his suggestion grind against my pride. “Father, I’m not going to discuss my wedding night with you.”

That earned a faint smile from him, dry and faintly amused. “Good. I’d thank you for that.” Then his

Chapter 12

expression sobered again. “But go talk to her, Adrian. Do your old man that small favor.”

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“When she comes back, I’ll have a quick word with her,” I said, though the words felt more like a concession than a promise.

He gave a single nod, then leaned on his cane like he was anchoring himself. “Cruelty has its place, Adrian. In our world, it often keeps men alive. But marriage-” his gaze hardened, pinning mine, “marriage isn’t where it belongs.”

Something in me snapped. “Do you want to have another talk about Serena? Today, of all days?” My voice was louder than I intended, but I didn’t care.

His face didn’t waver. It was calm and full of patience I’d never inherited. “My concern,” he said quietly, “is that you’ll forget Valentina isn’t Serena.”

I straightened, forcing authority into my tone. “It seems you know my wife better than I do.”

I didn’t wait for his reply. I turned and walked away, even though every step felt like I was grinding against the old respect that used to keep me in place. He wasn’t Underboss anymore. I didn’t need his guidance in business, and I sure as hell didn’t need it in my marriage.

From across the room, Gemma’s eyes found mine. She gave me a look filled with judgement, before slipping out through the same door Valentina had taken.

***

Valentin had been gone for too long. I’d given her space, but the minutes dragged on, and whispers were starting to ripple through the guests. With a sigh, I pushed away from the table and went to look for my bride.

I headed first toward the restrooms, expecting to find her freshening up, she wasn’t in there. As I came out, a low murmur of female voices floated from around the corner of a side corridor. I followed the sound until I

found them.

Gemma and Valentina sat side by side on the polished floor, their gowns fanned out like silken pools around them. The sight made me pause. For all her elegance in that white dress, sitting beside my sister only emphasized how young Valentina really was. Gemma was seven years her senior, but next to her, Valentina looked like a girl playing dress–up. The comparison was sobering.

Valentina’s head lifted at my approach. Her wide eyes met mine, and I caught the ripple of tension running through her slender shoulders. She stiffened, as if bracing for impact.

I strode forward. “Let me talk to my wife.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed at me, protective as always, but she took Valentina’s hand for a moment before rising. She extended her other hand to me. Out of habit, I clasped it and helped her to her feet.

She leaned in just enough that only I could hear her. “Be a husband, Adrian. Not a mobster. Just once.” The quiet sting of her words lingered even as she slipped past me.

I didn’t answer her. My attention was fixed on Valentin. She was still sitting there, staring up at me like a deer cornered by headlights. Slowly, I extended my hand. “Come. Let’s get some fresh air.”

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She hesitated for a second before placing her hand in mine. Her fingers were cool and damp, trembling slightly against my palm. I drew her up gently and rested my hand against the small of her back, guiding her down the corridor without a word.

eyes

We reentered the ballroom, but I didn’t stop there. Valentina’s mother noticed immediately, and her darted to the clock on the wall. Her lips pressed into a thin line as suspicion and calculation flickered across her face, as if she thought I’d drag her daughter into the shadows and take what was mine before the bedding ritual had even begun.

Ignoring the feeling of so many eyes on us, I led Valentina toward the tall French doors. They opened onto the terrace, where clusters of guests lingered with drinks in hand. The moment they saw us, they began to scatter, retreating inside to give us space. The air cooled noticeably as we stepped outside, and the music faded behind us.

I stopped a good distance from the windows, ensuring no one could hear us, then turned to face her. She stood stiffly with her hands knotted together in front of her. The soft fringe of her bangs framed her face, making her look unbearably young–too young. Cute, yes. Pretty, undeniably. But there was no mistaking the innocence in her eyes, an innocence that clashed with the role she’d been thrust into.

“My father told me you’re scared.”

The words left my mouth with a stricter tone than I intended. Subtlety had never been one of my strengths.

Valentina’s eyes flew wide open. Her lips parted soundlessly before she stammered, “I… I’m not… I…”

She bit down on her lower lip, gazing away toward the garden. The pale wash of moonlight caught her profile. Her skin was impossibly smooth, untouched by the years of hardness I carried on my own face.

“Will you look at me?” I asked, quieter this time.

Her lashes lifted, uncertain, but she met my gaze. I reached for her hand, running my thumb lightly over her fingers until it brushed against the band of her wedding ring. She flinched, just slightly, and a shiver coursed through her.

“This ring makes you mine,” I said.

Her shoulders stiffened instantly. The words had come out wrong and crude, like a declaration of ownership rather than what I’d meant. It was true, of course. She was mine now, bound by vows neither of us had chosen. And tonight, tradition demanded I claim her fully. But that wasn’t the reassurance I had meant to give. I was out of practice with gentleness. Serena had never wanted it from me. She’d screamed, cried, or flirted with sweetness when she wanted something. Talking, really talking, had never been part of our marriage.

I exhaled, forcing myself to soften my words. “Tradition binds us, Valentina. Not just you. Me too.”

Her lips parted in confusion. “I know our traditions,” she said quickly, cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

“I’m not talking about the sheets,” I cut in.

She swallowed nervously. “Then… what are you talking about?”

“That as my wife,” I said slowly, choosing each word with care, “you’re entitled to my protection.”

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For the first time that night, she didn’t look scared, just curious. She tilted her head, studying me as though trying to see past the iron mask I’d worn since we met. “Okay,” she murmured softly, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that promise.

It wasn’t eloquent, but it was all I had. I wasn’t a man who spoke well about feelings. I’d never been. What I couldn’t tell her with words, I’d have to show her with action.

The silence stretched between us. She seemed to wait. Her lips pressed together like there was more she wanted to say. Maybe she hoped I’d give her more than clipped sentences, some piece of myself. But I stayed quiet. I didn’t know this girl or what filled her days beyond shopping, dresses, and meeting other women. She was still so young, still soft in a way I had never been, not even at her age. And I was far too old, too hard, to pretend otherwise.

Finally, I glanced toward the windows, where shadows moved inside the ballroom. “Let’s return. Our guests are waiting. It’s almost midnight.”

I felt her tense beside me at the mention of the hour, but she didn’t protest. Wordless, she fell into step with me as I led her back inside with her small hand trembling in mine.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13