Page 33 of The Hidden Heir

Victor frowns slightly, staring at another box. It looks different from the rest—smaller, wrapped in white paper and tied up with a blood-red bow. It stands out, indeed.

“What is it, Victor?” I ask.

He reaches for the box and checks its tag. “It’s from Mauro Mancuso.”

“Didn’t you vet all the presents before bringing them to the table?” Luca replies, suddenly stiff beside me.

“I did. This wasn’t with the rest of them,” Victor mutters. “Caroline came in with a box of her own… that one, with blue,” he adds, pointing at another gift and checking that tag again to confirm. “Yes, Caroline Mancuso. But I didn’t see this one come in.”

“Then we have a security breach,” Luca says, his gaze hardening as he approaches the table with careful, controlled steps.

“Or Caroline dropped it on her way out,” I suggest. “Whatever it is, my stepfather wouldn’t risk hurting Caroline or Michael. Maybe he doesn’t care as much for me, but I know he’d never hurt his own daughter.”

Victor nods in agreement. “Fair enough. But we should still be careful.”

After some checking and turning the box over a few times, and after Eddie waves the metal detector over it a few times with no concerning beeps, Luca finally opens the box while the wedding party watches with wide eyes.

“What is it?” I ask when the tension becomes downright unbearable.

Luca stills as he removes the lid. Unable to look away.

His lips part, and I can almost feel the breath leaving his body.

My pulse quickens as I step closer and peek inside. Photographs. Lots of photographs—all depicting bloody, gruesome angles from the same scene. I see the name of the nightclub, and it resonates with a memory of mine, of me reading about the explosion that killed Stefano. I was still in Calumet City at the time, hiding and fooling myself into believing I was safe.

That I’d never be found.

“My God, the audacity of this guy is out of this fucking world,” Carmine exclaims as he takes one of the photos to get a closer look.

Victor exhales sharply as he analyzes a photo of carbonized remains with a close-up detail of a gold-plated wristwatch. “This was Stefano. The bomb went off with him inside the club.”

“It’s a message from Mancuso,” Luca mutters. “He made sure to write it on the back, too, in case I didn’t get it at first glance.

“What? Oh…” Victor gasps and turns the photo over to read the message scrawled across in black ink. “The Petrucci bloodline is cursed, and each of them will pay. This isn’t over.”

“This isn’t over,” I whisper, dread washing over me like an icy wave.

My knees weaken as I realize this isn’t over at all. Part of me may have believed that once Luca and I tied the knot, my stepfather would back off, but clearly, that’s not his plan. I can’t even think about what Caroline might have to say about this. Did she know what was in the box? Is she the one who dropped it? Or did my stepfather pay someone to sneak it in?

These are all questions darting across the gift table from one man to another, while I’m shivering and fearing what the future may hold.

“This isn’t over,” I say it again, louder this time for Luca to hear me.

He frowns at me. “He’s just trying to mess with our heads, Valentina.”

“If this is your way of reassuring me, it’s not working,” I reply.

Victor shakes his head. “The words of an angry old man,” he says. “Mancuso knows he can’t do anything else about this. It’s his last hurrah before the sun sets. His way of ruining the wedding because it’s literally the only thing he can do.”

“I hope it’s obvious at this point that no Mancuso will come anywhere near Michael in their lifetime,” Luca says.

“A fair enough response,” Victor replies. “For a fool who’s lashing out.”

Maybe he believes that.

Maybe Luca believes it, too.

But I have a hard time stomaching any of this. It was a difficult affair to begin with. Having my own stepfather’s threatening words hanging over my head only makes everything worse.