Chapter 42 SHE'S MY WIFE NOW
••Luciana••
“Welcome to your old home, princess.”
Roman’s voice was light as he held out his hand to help me out of the jet. For a second, I just stared at it. Old home. The words sat strangely on my tongue. The Moretti estate rose before us, tall and familiar, unchanged in structure but heavy with memories I hadn’t unpacked yet.
I took his hand.
The guards straightened immediately, heads bowing in respect. The workers paused whatever they were doing to greet us as we walked in. Everything moved the way it always had, like I had never left, or been absent.
Inside, the dining table was already set.
Father sat at the head, exactly where he always did. To his right sat the woman. His new wife, or soon to be wife, or whatever title she was supposed to carry now. Antonio sat to his left, posture stiff, expression unreadable. Then I noticed Matteo.
My chest tightened.
Roman and I walked toward the table together. Two empty seats waited beside Antonio, one near Matteo. Roman pulled out a chair for me and I sat at the edge of the table, Roman settling beside Antonio.
“Hello, Dad,” I said.
Father barely glanced at me before turning to Roman. They shook hands, firm and brief.
“Welcome,” Father said, already gesturing for us to sit properly.
Roman exchanged pleasantries with him. No one spoke to me. Not a single glance from Father, not even a nod. I might as well have been decorative.
Matteo’s eyes flicked to me now and then. Antonio’s gaze followed too, I could feel it even without looking. I didn’t acknowledge either of them. Silence was my choice tonight. They had all managed just fine without me for months.
Then the woman spoke.
“It’s nice to formally meet you, Luci. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I smiled slowly, the kind that never reached my eyes. “I wonder what you must have heard,” I replied. “And it’s Luciana to you.”
Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face before she schooled it away. Father’s chair scraped loudly as he leaned forward.
“Luci, you will respect your stepmother.”
I turned to him calmly. “Your wife,” I corrected. “Not my stepmother.”
The air shifted.
“I didn’t invite you here to argue or start a fight,” Father said, his voice sharp. “Behave yourself.”
“My behavior doesn’t seem like your concern anymore,” I replied evenly. “Since I no longer belong here.”
Roman’s mouth twitched, the faintest smile at the corner of his lips as he picked at his food, pretending to focus on his phone.
“Please, Luci… Luciana,” the woman said carefully. “Can we just get back to eating?”
I looked at her. Really looked. “I see you still haven’t learned your place here.”
Her face paled.
“That’s enough,” Father snapped, anger rising fast now. “If you don’t know your place, I will have you thrown out of this dinner.”
Thrown out.
I swallowed hard. Once upon a time, I was his princess, now I was disposable.
Roman’s voice cut through the tension, calm but dangerous. “You forgot something,” he said. “She’s my wife now, sí.”
Father stiffened. “She’s my daughter.”
“She bears Orlov with your consent," Roman replied, finally lifting his gaze. “You know better than to threaten an Orlov in my presence, Vittorio.”
Silence ensued, if a pin dropped this moment we would definitely hear the sound.
I slipped my hand onto Roman’s lap, a quiet plea for restraint. He glanced at me, then leaned back slightly. Antonio cleared his throat, grounding everyone back into reality.
I pushed my chair back. “If you’ll excuse us,” I said. “I’d like to show my husband around the house.”
Without waiting for approval, I took Roman’s hand and left, i could feel their eyes on us as we climbed the stairs.
“Where are we going?” Roman asked softly. “I thought leaving was just to stop me from finishing that conversation.”
I didn’t answer.
We stopped in front of my old room. The placard was still there, hanging crookedly on the door.
DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT KNOCKING.
Roman read it aloud and laughed. “What is this?
“I was forced to put it up,” I said. “Antonio and Matteo never knocked.”
“That explains a lot,” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Inside, the room was almost untouched. My bed, my shelves, my memories. A bottle of alcohol sat on the floor near the bed. Matteo. Of course.
Roman wandered around, stopping to look at the pictures on the wall. My childhood photos, with old smiles. A softer version of me.
"You were truly a member of the Red Cross," he remarked. I turned to him, noticing he was fixated on a photograph of me in my Red Cross uniform, standing next to my mother. I must have been around 15 or 16 at the time.
"You really thought I was making that up?" I inquired.
"Nowadays, you can sign up for all these things online without even stepping foot into a training session," he replied.
"Well, that right there is your evidence," I said, shooting him a disapproving glance. Why would he even think I was lying?
"Initially, I didn't believe, but when you assisted Mildred before the nurse arrived, I realized you had some real experience," he continued. I couldn’t help but wonder if he caught the look I gave him from behind—maybe that’s why he was clarifying things.
"Is that your mom next to you?" he asked again.
"Uh-huh," I affirmed with a nod.
"I had no idea you could smile like that," he said, "You really look like her."
It was true; I was the spitting image of my mother, probably the reason why my father cherished me so much. At least before.
I gazed at the picture too, recalling the day I received my Red Cross badge. I completed all the necessary training and tests, which means I've qualified. That day was such a joyous moment for me; I recalled how Antonio had cried to join us, but my father wouldn’t permit it. My smile was genuine then.
At that time, I was oblivious to what it truly meant to be the daughter of a mafia Don or the responsibilities it entailed. And my mother? She's no longer here. She tragically passed away in an accident just days before my 17th birthday, leaving a void in my life. It's why I often feel the birthday blues approaching each year—she was the only one who truly made that day meaningful for me.
I was so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t realize Roman was now directly in front of me.
“Can I take this picture?” His voice unexpectedly broke my reverie.
“Wh... What?”
“Where were you lost in thought?” he asked, concern evident in his expression.
“Just thinking. What did you say?” I tried to dismiss it casually.
“This photo,” he lifted it to show me. “Can I keep it?”
It was the same one with the red cross.
“Why?”
“Hmm... Perhaps as proof that you can smile so brightly.”
“Whatever,” I replied, shrugging it off.
At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted us. Matteo leaned in before entering.
“Luci, can we talk?” he asked.