Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 76

VALENTINA

The hallway light blurred as I came out of Stefan’s room, and I realized it was just me tearing up. I furiously wiped at my eyes with my trembling hands, still struggling to make sense of what had just happened.

The door clicked softly behind me, and the sound of it seemed to echo down the corridor like a closing heartbeat.

I stood there a moment, trying to catch my breath. My reflection stared back at me from one of the framed photos on the wall. My face was pale and drawn, with eyes too wide.

I didn’t know what scared me more: what Stefan had said, or the way he had said it.

By the time I reached our bedroom, I could barely feel my hands. I pushed the door open quietly. The room was dim except for the bedside lamp. Adrian was seated on the edge of the bed, loosening the buttons on his cuffs, his head bent slightly forward in thought. He looked up immediately when I walked in.

He squinted his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

I tried to speak, but the words got caught somewhere in my throat. My heart was still racing. “It’s Stefan,” I said finally. “He didn’t eat dinner.”

Adrian frowned, lowering his hands. “Did he say why?”

I shook my head and sat on the armchair across from him. “He’s been quiet all evening. He didn’t talk in the car on the way home from school, and he went straight upstairs when we got home. I thought he was just tired, but―” I stopped, pressing my fingers together to stop them from shaking. “Adrian, something’s not right with him. Haven’t you noticed it?”

Adrian’s jaw tensed. “Kids have moods, Valentina. Especially little boys his age.”

“This wasn’t a mood swing,” I said softly. “He was angry. He- he said something that…” I trailed off, unsure how to phrase it without sounding insane.

Adrian leaned forward slightly. “What did he say?”

I looked at him, searching for a way to soften it, but there wasn’t one. “He was talking about his mother. He said Serena is still here.”

Adrian went completely still. His hand froze midair as if time itself had stopped. The silence stretched between us.

“He said she comes to his room at night,” I added, my voice shaking despite myself. “That she sits at the foot of his bed. That she talks to him.”

For a long moment, Adrian didn’t move. He just stared at me― expression unreadable, but the muscle in his jaw ticked, once, hard.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose and leaned back. “He’s just saying things, Valentina. You know how

children are after a loss. They… imagine things.”

“I know that. But this didn’t sound like imagination,” I whispered. “He was so certain. And he got angry when I tried to explain to him that it was just the grief talking. I think we should talk to someone. A therapist, maybe. Someone who can help him understand what’s real and what isn’t.”

Adrian’s head snapped toward me. “He doesn’t need therapy.”

I blinked, startled by the finality in his tone. “Adrian, he-”

“The boy is fine,” he cut in, his voice firmer this time. “He’s been through enough already. Dragging him to talk to a stranger about his dead mother won’t help. It’ll only make him remember more than he should.”

“He already remembers,” I said quietly. “Pretending he doesn’t isn’t helping either.”

Adrian looked away, his gaze falling on the window where the rain beat against the glass. For a second, I thought I saw something else flicker across his face- fear, maybe. But when he turned back, his expression was carefully composed again.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he said, too quickly. “He just needs reassurance. It’s a phase.”

“Adrian,” I murmured. “He said she told him not to tell me things. That I shouldn’t touch her stuff. That she doesn’t like me.”

His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

Something dark crossed his expression then- an old kind of anger, quiet and cold. His lips parted, then closed again. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured. “You must have misunderstood. Stefan’s confused, that’s all. He’s trying to make sense of things he can’t understand.”

“Maybe,” I whispered. “But he doesn’t know that. He’s convinced he knows what he’s saying. It’s our job as his parents to help him work through that. He was doing so well, and now… Grief doesn’t just go away, Adrian. He needs to see someone.”

Adrian’s stare pinned me. “He doesn’t,” he said firmly.

“Why are you acting this way?” I asked, shaking my head.

“He’s my son. And he’s going to be Underboss one day. Have you ever heard of any Underboss seeing a shrink? He’s a man and he’s going to be fine. I just need to explain things to him.”

I opened my mouth in shock. “He’s a seven year old boy! He’s not a man! He needs help!”

“Valentina, listen to me. You’re tired. You’ve been worrying too much lately. The boy misses his mother, that’s all. Don’t read too much into it.”

I wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me. That flat and distant look meant that he’d already decided.

“Alright,” I said finally. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he said, too quickly again.

He stood and walked to his dresser, running a hand through his hair, as if brushing away invisible thoughts. “Go to bed. I’ll check on him later.”

I watched him from the bed, my pulse still racing. There was something off in the way he said it. The calm in his voice didn’t match the tension in his shoulders.

When he turned back, he caught me watching him. His expression softened. “Don’t worry, piccolina. He’ll be fine. I promise.”

I forced a small nod and got under the covers.

ADRIAN

I waited until Valentina’s breathing had evened out before slipping out of bed.

My chest felt tight, like the air had turned too heavy to breathe. I walked to the window and stared out into the night. The rain had slowed, leaving faint streaks down the glass.

“He said his mother is still here.”

The words replayed in my mind like a curse.

I pressed my fingers against my temple. Stefan was only a boy. He didn’t understand the weight of the things he said, the danger of them. But Valentina… Valentina would start asking questions now. She’d start looking

where she shouldn’t.

And if she did…

I closed my eyes and forced the thought away. No. It wouldn’t come to that. She trusted me. She always had.

Still, unease crawled through my veins. I needed to hear another voice, one that would pull me out of this spiral.

I picked up my phone from the nightstand and stepped into the hallway, closing the bedroom door quietly behind me.

Damien answered after the second ring. “Boss?”

“It’s me.”

There was a pause. “You sound like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t.” I kept my voice low. “Stefan said something tonight.”

“What kind of something?”

“He told Valentina that his mother is still here.”

There was silence on the other end. Then Damien exhaled. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” I muttered.

“What did Valentina say?”

“She wants to take him to a therapist. She thinks he’s seeing things.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That he’s fine. Of course he’s fine. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Good,” Damien said quickly. “That’s good. You can’t let her start poking around.”

“I know,” I said, running a hand down my face. “But she’s not going to let it go. She’s stubborn like that.”

“You’ve handled worse.”

I didn’t answer. The house was too quiet; even the rain outside had stopped. I could hear the faint tick of the grandfather clock downstairs, steady and accusing.

Finally, Damien spoke again, his tone lower. “Valentina’s never gone up to the third floor, has she?”

I hesitated. “No. She knows not to do that.”

“She wouldn’t disobey you.”

I didn’t respond.

Damien’s voice softened, almost reassuring. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. The situation is under control. The boy’s just talking nonsense and you know it. Valentina’s emotional, that’s all.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But my reflection in the glass said otherwise- eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, the faint shadow of guilt pressing like a bruise beneath my ribs.

“Keep an eye on things anyway,” I said quietly.

“I always do.”

I ended the call and stood there for a long time, listening to the hum of the house.

It was strange how silence could feel so alive. How it could seem to breathe with you, whisper against the edges of your mind.

I turned toward the stairs that led up toward the third floor and felt the familiar chill that always came with it.

I didn’t move, didn’t even take a step. I just stood there, my pulse thudding hard in my throat.

Then, as if from nowhere, a faint creak echoed through the ceiling above me.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I’d let Valentina get into my head, and now I was hearing things too.

Maybe we all needed therapy. I scoffed.

“Everything’s under control,” I whispered to myself.

And when I opened my eyes again, the house was still as it was… perfectly still.