Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 77

**Through Shadows We Painted Our Forever by Erynn Vel Coren**

**VALENTINA**

The café buzzed with life on that Thursday morning, an unexpected crowd filling the space, as sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow that danced across the polished brass accents of the tables. The air was rich with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, mingling with the soft sounds of clinking cutlery and the gentle hum of conversation, creating an atmosphere that felt both inviting and vibrant.

As I stepped inside, my eyes quickly found Gemma, who was already seated in a cozy corner booth, her bright smile cutting through the morning haze. Her hair was neatly pulled into a sleek bun, and a pair of stylish sunglasses rested atop her head. In front of her, a half-empty latte sat like a testament to her early arrival.

“You’re late,” she teased, her voice light and playful as I slid into the seat across from her, feeling the familiar warmth of our friendship wrap around me.

“I had to drop Stefan off at school,” I replied, letting out a small sigh as I set my bag down. “It turned into a whole ordeal. He didn’t want to go today at all.”

She raised an eyebrow, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “I thought he loved school?”

“He does, but it’s just been a rocky few days for him,” I explained, forcing a smile that felt a little strained. “Once he’s there, he’s usually fine. Just needs a bit of a push in the morning.”

Gemma regarded me with a mix of concern and amusement. “You’re sounding like a real mom now,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

I chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of self-awareness. “I guess I am. So, how’s the baby?” I inquired, genuinely interested. Gemma had welcomed her little one into the world just over a month ago.

“He’s great. A calm baby, really. It’s a stark contrast to my other two,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she spoke of her son.

I smiled at her, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “That’s wonderful. You look really good, by the way.”

Just then, the waiter approached, and I ordered a cappuccino along with a slice of lemon tart—something light to accompany our chat. Gemma was already halfway through her avocado toast, clearly enjoying her meal.

For a while, our conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on the usual topics: her baby’s improved sleeping patterns, and the delightful surprise her husband had planned—a spontaneous weekend getaway to the enchanting Lake Como. It all felt so normal, so comforting.

Yet, as she spoke, a tightness began to coil within me, a shadow creeping in. The image of Stefan’s face from two nights ago flashed in my mind—his wide eyes, the way he had shouted at me to leave the room. It was a memory I couldn’t shake off.

Noticing my silence, Gemma tilted her head, concern etching her features. “You look a million miles away. What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice gentle.

I attempted to brush it off. “Nothing, just feeling a bit tired,” I replied, though the words felt hollow.

“Valentina.” Her tone softened, coaxing me to open up. “Is it my brother? Please, tell me.”

I shook my head, not ready to voice my fears.

“Then what is it? You know you can talk to me,” she urged, her eyes searching mine.

I hesitated, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. I didn’t want to give voice to my worries; doing so would make them feel all the more real. But Gemma had always been my confidante, the one person who had stood by me fiercely when I first married Adrian. Even now, nearly two years later, that bond remained unbroken.

With a resigned sigh, I leaned back in my seat. “It’s Stefan,” I finally admitted.

She set down her fork, her expression shifting to one of concern. “What about him?”

“He’s been quiet lately. Withdrawn. And then…” I paused, glancing around as if the walls might be listening. “He said something that’s been bothering me.”

Gemma frowned, her interest piqued. “What did he say?”

I lowered my voice, the weight of my words heavy. “He’s been talking about his mother.”

“His mother?” she echoed, confusion flickering across her face.

“Yes. He mentioned that she’s still here,” I confessed, my heart racing.

Gemma blinked, her brow furrowing. “Here? As in—?”

“As in in the house,” I clarified, my voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Gemma was silent, processing my words. Then she leaned closer, her voice soothing. “Maybe he meant in spirit. Kids often say things like that. They don’t really grasp the difference between gone and dead.”

“That’s what I thought, and I’m pretty sure that’s all it is,” I said, trying to convince myself. “But Stefan is a smart kid. He knows his mom is dead, but he insists she talks to him. That she comes into his room at night.”

Gemma’s expression softened further, concern etched in her features. “Oh, Valentina,” she murmured, her heart clearly aching for me.

“I tried to bring it up with Adrian, to see about getting him some help,” I continued, wrapping my hands around the warm cup the waiter had just placed in front of me. The heat felt comforting, grounding me. “But he brushed it off, said Stefan was just confused.”

“Adrian’s a practical man,” Gemma remarked carefully. “He probably doesn’t want to confront it. It’s easier to ignore something that feels so frightening.”

“I know, but what if Stefan really is seeing something? What if he’s—” I hesitated, the word haunted feeling ridiculous even in my mind. “What if he’s not okay? Don’t you think seeing a therapist is the right thing to do?”

Gemma shook her head slowly. “I get that. But this is the Mafia, Vee. You know how it is; you grew up in it. They don’t believe in things like that.”

“But this is our son! Why can’t Adrian just set aside his stubborn pride and help me help him?” I exclaimed, frustration bubbling to the surface.

Gemma reached across the table, her hand gently covering mine. “You’ve been through so much, Valentina. All of you. Sometimes kids sense tension they can’t articulate. Maybe Stefan is picking up on something, and his mind is just turning it into stories.”

“I want to believe that,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Then do,” she encouraged, offering me a faint smile. “You’re doing everything right. You’re kind, you’re patient, and he adores you. That’s what truly matters. The rest will pass.”

Her calm, reassuring words worked their magic, and for a moment, the heaviness in my chest lifted. We shifted our conversation back to lighter topics, discussing Sofia’s latest obsession with coloring, which had left our walls adorned with vibrant stains, and a new bakery Gemma was eager for me to try.

By the time I left the café, I felt a little lighter, as if perhaps I had been imagining the weight that had settled upon me.

And Stefan’s voice echoed in my mind: She comes to my room at night.

It was absurd. I was allowing a child’s words to seep into my thoughts, to unsettle me. I had been in this house for almost two years, and everything had been perfectly fine.

When Adrian finally returned home, the house looked normal again. I had tidied up the footprints, opened the curtains, and prepared dinner. But something within me had irrevocably shifted.

He stepped into the living room, his tie loosened, his eyes immediately scanning my face. “You okay?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Just tired,” I replied, the words feeling inadequate.

He leaned down to kiss my forehead, his hand lingering against my cheek, gentle and protective. “You’ve been working too hard,” he murmured. “How about taking a break tomorrow? Go out and do something fun? Sybil will take care of the kids.”

I nodded, but a hollow feeling settled in my chest.

Because when I glanced past him, just for a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw something move at the top of the stairs.

A flicker. A shadow.

But when I blinked, it was gone.

That night, sleep eluded me. Every creak of the house seemed amplified, and I felt myself starting to hyperventilate.

**Chapter // Vouchers**

I got up twice to check on the kids. Both times, they were sound asleep—Stefan curled tightly under his blanket, Sofia’s little hand clutching her stuffed bunny.

But as I turned to leave the second time, I thought I heard a faint rustle from the end of the hallway.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest.

It came again, softer this time—the sound of a door closing slowly, carefully.

I looked toward the staircase leading up to the third floor. The door at the top was barely visible in the dark. I had never been there. Adrian had strictly instructed me never to go to the third floor the day I first entered this home. Over time, I had completely forgotten about it.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, listening intently. Nothing happened. It was all in my head.

Finally, I forced myself to return to bed. Adrian stirred when I slipped under the covers. “Everything alright?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Yes,” I whispered, though the word felt like a lie.

Long after he drifted back to sleep, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the faint creak of that upstairs door echoing over and over in my mind.