Under the Mafia King’s Control

I swallowed hard, my fingers still clenched around the strap of my bag. Alessandro Valenti, this imposing man, stood before me, explaining with chilling calm that the child I carried was his.

Every instinct in me screamed to flee the conversation, to tell him I wasn't ready for this. But another part of me—perhaps the more rational side—knew that I couldn't avoid this problem. Not anymore.

I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to meet his.

"Fine," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "If you want to talk, come inside. We can discuss this… calmly."

A flicker of something crossed his steel-gray eyes, but he merely nodded.

"With pleasure."

I turned to open the building door and led him up the stairs, his presence looming behind me like a shadow. When we reached my apartment, I gestured for him to enter.

His gaze quickly swept over the room. My small living room—modest but clean—was worlds apart from what he was likely accustomed to. Yet he moved with calculated ease, as if he effortlessly belonged in any space, no matter how simple.

"Have a seat," I said, motioning to the couch.

He sat down without a word, his posture perfect. For a moment, I felt absurd in my casual clothes while he wore a flawlessly tailored suit.

"I'll make tea," I added quickly, more to keep my hands busy than out of genuine hospitality.

He nodded silently.

In the kitchen, I busied myself with the kettle and tea bags, my thoughts whirling. How had I ended up here? Just days ago, I was Arianna Costa, an ordinary woman living an ordinary life. And now, I was carrying the child of a complete stranger—a stranger who, by all accounts, was anything but ordinary.

When I returned with two steaming mugs, Alessandro was still seated, as straight as ever. He looked up as I approached and accepted the tea with a polite nod, though I noticed he didn't actually drink it.

I sat across from him in the chair near the coffee table, taking a deep breath.

"Well," I began, "we're in an… unusual situation. But I think we're both adults capable of finding a reasonable solution."

He didn't respond immediately, his piercing gaze fixed on me as if weighing my every word.

"I'm listening," he said finally, his voice low and composed.

"It's clear you have a right to be involved in this child's life. I wouldn't deny you that," I continued, doing my best to sound confident. "Maybe we could consider shared custody. Once the baby is born, of course. You could have your share of responsibilities without completely disrupting our separate lives."

I set my cup down on the table, hoping I looked more self-assured than I felt.

He stared at me for a long moment without speaking. Then, slowly, he placed his own cup on the coffee table and straightened slightly.

"Shared custody?" he repeated, his voice carrying a faint edge of irony.

"Yes," I insisted. "I understand this is complicated, but we can find a compromise. After all, you've done nothing wrong, and I don't want to take away your chance to be a father. But—"

I stopped short at the expression on his face. A mixture of calm and unshakable determination that sent a chill down my spine.

"You seem to think I'm here to negotiate," he said softly.

I frowned. "Aren't you?"

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes locked onto mine.

"No, Miss Costa. I'm not."

My heart raced, and I instinctively pressed back against the chair.

"Then… what are you proposing?" I murmured, my voice trembling more than I wanted.

He straightened again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"There is only one viable solution to this situation."

"And what's that?"

His gaze didn't waver for a second.

"We need to get married."

I froze, my breath caught in my throat.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, his tone unyielding. "This child is a Valenti. And in my family, there is no room for compromise. The child will be raised in a stable environment, with both parents under the same roof. That means you and I must marry."

I shook my head, unable to process what I was hearing.

"Wait a minute. Are you saying you think marriage is the only solution? Are you serious?"

"Entirely serious."

"This is insane!" I exclaimed. "We don't even know each other! And you think a forced marriage is the answer?"

He remained unmoved, his face as impassive as ever.

"This isn't about what I want, Miss Costa. It's about what's necessary. This child will not be raised as the product of a mistake. He or she will have everything they deserve—a family, a home, and a name."

I clenched my fists, my emotions spilling over despite my efforts to stay composed.

"You don't understand what you're asking of me. You want me to sacrifice my freedom, my life, for a… medical error. You really think I can just… go along with that?"

He regarded me calmly, but his words landed like a stone.

"This isn't a sacrifice," he said. "It's a choice. A choice for the future of this child."

I shot to my feet, unable to sit still any longer in the face of what he was demanding. A quiet fury rose within me, mingled with a painful memory.

"I know what it's like to grow up without parents," I murmured suddenly, almost without realizing I was speaking.

Alessandro remained motionless, but his gaze grew more intense.

"I was twelve when they died," I continued, my voice trembling. "A stupid accident. And after that, there was nothing. Just judges, paperwork, temporary homes. You might think I'm selfish, but all I want is for my child to never go through that."

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to mask the vulnerability threatening to overwhelm me.

"I don't want them to have a divided life," I said more firmly this time. "But that doesn't mean I'll agree to this marriage. There has to be another way."

A silence fell between us.

Alessandro stood still, his gaze fixed on me, as if carefully considering my words. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"I understand," he said finally. "But that changes nothing. And you know it as well as I do. This marriage isn't a matter of choice. It's a necessity."

I had no answer for him. Not yet.

But a small voice deep inside whispered that he might be right.