Chapter Twenty-eight – Playing Pretend

Chapter Twenty-eight – Playing Pretend
VALENTINA

I barely had time to sit down before Malia launched into it.
Which, frankly, was exactly what I’d been counting on.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she blurted, dragging her hands through her hair, fingers trembling. “These last few days have been insane. And even though it’s only been that—a few days—it feels like I’ve been stuck here forever! I thought I was going crazy, Val. I only tried to save my father, not knowing what I was getting myself into! Like… You can’t imagine the things Marcello told me… How am I supposed to go through with this? Marrying someone I don’t even know? A Mafia boss? What if I say the wrong thing and get killed for it? What if—”
I grabbed her shoulders mid-spiral, cutting her off before she could work herself into a full-blown panic.
“Breathe, Malia,” I said firmly, because she hadn’t taken a single breath since she started.
She blinked, then took one deep inhale, and another, slower this time. I let go and moved toward the chair near her window, leaning back into it with deliberate ease, crossing one leg over the other and adopting what I could only describe as supportive big-sister energy.
“Okay,” I said, voice calm, even. “So... start at the beginning. All of it.”
And she did.
She told me everything, even though I already knew every single word.
I let her say it anyway, let her pour it all out, nodding at the right moments, widening my eyes at the parts that were supposed to shock me.
“Wait—you offered to marry their Mafia boss? Just like that?” I asked with just the right amount of disbelief.
Malia’s hands twisted in her lap, her voice smaller now. “I didn’t know what else to do. My dad was bleeding out, and they said it was the only way to save him, so I agreed before they could hurt him more.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered when she finished, keeping the sympathy in my tone light but present. “This is like something out of a movie.”
She nodded slowly, almost dazed. “Except I can’t turn it off.”
I let the silence hang for a few beats, long enough for the words to settle into the walls.
Then I leaned forward, keeping my tone softer now. “How are you holding up?”
She blinked. “What?”
“I mean… being here. In this house. With all these strangers. How are they treating you?”
She hesitated, just for a second—but that second was enough.
I raised an eyebrow. “Bad?”
“No, not exactly.” She frowned, expression pinching. “It’s just... weird. Claire is really kind. Isabella’s a little hard to read, but she’s not mean or anything. It’s just—”
“Marcello?” I offered, tilting my head.
Her eyes snapped to mine. Sharp. Defensive.
“I didn’t say anything about him.”
“You didn’t have to. Your face did.” I smirked, then let it soften. “Is he bothering you?”
Another pause. “No. I mean… yes. But not like that. He’s just… always there. Always watching. Half the time he’s teasing me, the other half he’s saying weird, cryptic shit that makes it sound like he knows everything about me.”
“Well,” I said lightly, “he is your fiancé’s right hand. He probably does know everything about you by now.”
“Exactly.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s creepy.”
“Or maybe,” I said, my voice careful, “you’re just not used to attention that intense.”
She scowled. “It’s not attention. It’s surveillance.”
“Surveillance?”
She glanced around, checking the door, then leaned in like she was sharing a secret. “I think he’s testing me.”
That one caught me off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“The things he says. The way he’s always near, always watching my reactions. I think Marcello’s assignment is to test my fidelity or something. To see if I’d cheat or… break the rules.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Because while she wasn’t entirely wrong, that wasn’t the real reason Marcello was glued to her side. No, he wanted to be close. Desperately. After months—years—of restraint, he was finally letting himself stay near.
“You really think they’d go that far?”
Her look was pure disbelief.
I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, just asking.”
But now I was watching her closely. The way her voice dipped when she spoke about him. The way her eyes shifted when she mentioned his presence.
Something was happening.
She wasn’t ready to admit it, maybe hadn’t even realized it yet, but something inside her was already shifting.
I leaned back, choosing a different approach.
“Listen, I get it. This whole thing is a lot. But maybe… it’s not all bad?”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
I gestured around the room—the view, the carved furniture, the expensive everything. “Look around. You’ll never need anything again. This life, it’s built on protection. Comfort. Power. You’ll be safe, Malia. You’ll be surrounded by people who would take a bullet for you.”
“I don’t care about any of this,” she shot back immediately. Too fast. “I don’t want dresses or guards or marble floors.”
“Then what do you want?” I asked, softer now.
She looked down. Her hands clenched in her lap.
“To be loved,” she whispered. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
It hit harder than I expected.
And despite myself, I laughed — a soft, bitter exhale of breath.
She had no idea what she was asking for.
If she knew what love looked like in our world — the blood, the compromise, the war it took to hold onto someone who truly mattered — she might stop chasing it like it was something clean or simple.
Ethan had almost left me the day he found out the truth. I thought I’d lost him. But instead of walking away, he stepped closer. Asked to be part of it. Asked to stand beside me in the dark. That wasn’t romantic. It was survival.
Real. Messy. Brutal. And beautiful.
“You might still get that,” I told her gently. “You never know. You could fall in love with Blaine. Maybe he’s not as bad as you think.”
She snorted. “You haven’t met him.”
“Neither have you,” I lied easily. “But I know his type. And I know one thing — he won’t let anything happen to you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound so sure about that?”
Shit. Too much.
I shrugged, brushing it off. “I can’t know, obviously. I just… hope it. For your sake.”
She didn’t respond.
So I leaned forward one last time.
“No matter what happens, Mal… I’ll be right here. Okay? You’re not alone in this. I’ve got you.”
She looked up slowly.
Tears shimmered, but didn’t fall.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I needed that.”
I smiled and reached for her hand, giving it a small squeeze.
And silently, I made myself a promise:
Whatever happened next — whether she fell in love, burned this place to the ground, or both — I’d be there.
And waiting for the moment she realized who Blaine really was.