After exchanging goodbyes, the Vitale men stepped out of the Caruso mansion. The air outside was cooler, carrying the faint scent of rain. Salvatore adjusted his coat as their driver opened the sleek black car's door.
Adrian followed, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. The outside world was cut off once inside the car, with the heavy door shut behind them.
He turned to his father casually, though his tone carried curiosity laced with calculation.
"So… how was your meeting with Mr. Caruso?"
Salvatore leaned back in the leather seat, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Just as expected," he replied smoothly.
Adrian tilted his head, studying his father. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Salvatore said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter mounted inside the car, "Marco Caruso is a man who loves his family more than anything. And a man like that—when reminded of past debts, old wounds, and threats that linger—will always return to the fold. For his children's sake, if not his own."
Adrian smirked faintly, his mind already racing. If Marco were under his father again, Valeria would have no choice but to orbit closer to him.
"Good," Adrian said simply, his voice low. "That makes things… easier."
Salvatore raised a brow at his son, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Easier for what, Adrian?"
Adrian only smiled in response, his gaze fixed out the tinted window, hiding the storm brewing behind his calm demeanour.
The dining room was quiet, the clinking of silverware against porcelain echoing in the grand hall. Marco Caruso sat at the head of the long table, his children opposite him—Leo leaning back casually, Valeria quietly focused on her meal. But Marco's face carried the weight of something heavier than the food before him.
He set his glass of wine down and cleared his throat.
"There's something you both need to know."
Leo glanced up, his brow furrowing at the sudden seriousness. Valeria put her fork down, sensing the tension.
Marco exhaled slowly, his gaze steady on his children.
"I've made a decision. Starting tomorrow, I'll be working under Salvatore Vitale."
The silence that followed was deafening. Valeria's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. She understood too well the name Vitale, the power it carried, the world it meant stepping back into. Her heart sank, but she kept her composure, her fingers tightening around the edge of her napkin.
Leo broke the silence, his voice sharp. "You're going back? After all these years?"
Marco nodded, his tone grave but resolute. "It isn't about choice anymore. The world we left behind never truly leaves us. Salvatore made me realise that. For our security—for your safety—this is necessary."
Valeria lowered her gaze to her plate, her lips pressed into a thin line. Inside, questions burned: Safety from what? Or from who? But she didn't ask. She knew her father too well; once his mind was set, there was no turning him back.
Marco tried to soften the blow with a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"There will be a gathering this Tuesday. A party, to announce my return."
Leo leaned back in his chair, disbelief flickering in his expression. Valeria, however, remained silent, staring at her reflection in the dark red wine in her glass. Her father's decision was final, and all she could do was brace herself for the storm it would bring.
Marco leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. His eyes softened as he looked at his children, though his tone left no room for argument.
"There's one more thing," he said. "Salvatore's son, Adrian… you'll be seeing more of him from now on. I want you both to get along with him. No distance, no cold shoulders. He's family now, whether by blood or not."
Leo frowned, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What, you want us to babysit him?"
Marco's gaze hardened. "No. I want you to respect him. He will be important in the days to come. Salvatore trusts him, and so will I."
Valeria finally looked up from her glass, her expression calm but unreadable. Inside, she felt a strange twist in her chest—Adrian had already been weaving himself into her school life, into her circle, into her. Now her father was inviting him into their home, their family.
"I understand," she said softly, though her voice carried a weight she couldn't quite hide.
Leo muttered under his breath, but he didn't push further. Marco leaned back, satisfied, and raised his glass.
"To new beginnings. And to the Carusos standing strong again."
Valeria forced a faint smile, clinking her glass with her father's, all while a single thought echoed in her mind:
Adrian Vitale is no longer just a shadow at school. He's at our table now.
Monday morning carried an unusual silence. Even the drive to school felt heavier than usual—Leo stared out the car window, lost in his thoughts, while Valeria sat quietly beside him, replaying her father's words from last night.
When they arrived, Leo gave her a half-hearted smile before heading toward the fourth-year building. Valeria adjusted the strap of her bag and walked down the hallway, the sound of her heels echoing softly against the tiled floor.
As she turned the corner toward her classroom, she froze. Adrian Vitale was leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed in his usual sharp uniform but with a presence that made him stand out effortlessly. His piercing gaze locked onto her the moment she appeared.
"Morning," he said, his voice calm but carrying that undertone of command she had come to recognise.
Valeria hesitated for a heartbeat, then walked toward him, keeping her expression neutral. "What are you doing here? Don't you have your own class?"
Adrian smirked, pushing off the wall to stand tall before her. "I do. But I thought I'd walk you to yours today. After all…" His voice dropped lower, his eyes unblinking. "Our families are closer than ever now. Don't you think we should be too?"
Valeria met his stare, refusing to flinch. "That doesn't mean you get to decide where I go or who I talk to."
His smirk deepened, though his eyes darkened. "No," he said softly, "but it means you'll never get rid of me."
Before she could respond, the bell rang, and the hallway filled with students. Adrian stepped aside just enough to let her pass, his gaze following her as she entered the classroom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tuesday night arrived with an air of grandeur. The Caruso mansion was lit brighter than ever before, chandeliers casting golden light across marble floors polished to perfection. Luxury cars lined the driveway, each one carrying men and women of power—heads of Mafia families, their heirs, and allies dressed in their finest.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with both celebration and tension. Glasses of wine clinked, polite laughter echoed, and beneath it all was the sharp edge of old rivalries being buried—or sharpened.
At the centre of it stood Marco Caruso, a man reborn into the world he had once left behind. He welcomed guests with handshakes and measured smiles, Salvatore Vitale by his side, a picture of unity.
Leo lingered near their father, quietly observing, every instinct alert. Valeria, however, felt out of place in her elegant black dress, her hair tied neatly, a polite smile plastered on her face as greetings were exchanged. She kept her glass close, her eyes scanning the crowd, looking for something—or someone.
And then she found him.
Adrian.
Standing near the grand staircase, clad in a black tailored suit, his presence commanded attention without effort. His gaze was fixed solely on her, unwavering, as though she were the only person in the crowded hall. Slowly, he began to move toward her, every step deliberate, unhurried.
When he finally reached her, he leaned in slightly, his voice low so only she could hear.
"You look beautiful tonight, Valeria. Just like I knew you would."
Valeria stiffened, keeping her expression composed. "Don't start here, Adrian. Not in front of everyone."
He smirked, tilting his head. "Everyone's already looking. They'll get used to seeing us together."
Before she could respond, Salvatore raised his glass, drawing the room's attention. "Tonight, we celebrate the return of Marco Caruso—a loyal brother, a powerful ally, and a man who knows the value of family."
Applause filled the hall, but Valeria barely heard it. Adrian's hand brushed against hers, subtle, possessive, hidden from the crowd but undeniable.
"You'll see, Valeria," he whispered, eyes locked on her. "This is just the beginning. From now on, you're mine to protect… and mine to keep."
As the applause faded and conversations picked up again, Valeria pulled her hand away from Adrian's subtle grasp, stepping a little back to put space between them.
"Stop this," she said under her breath, her eyes sharp. "You don't own me, Adrian."
He leaned closer, the faintest smile curving his lips, his words brushing against her ear.
"Don't I?"
Her breath caught for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, glaring at him. "You're delusional."
Adrian chuckled softly, straightening up, but his gaze never left her. "Maybe. Or maybe I just know what I want. And unlike most people here…" his eyes flicked briefly to the gathering of Mafia heirs mingling nearby, "…I always get it."
Valeria felt a chill run through her despite the warm glow of the chandeliers. She raised her glass, trying to hide her unease behind a sip of wine, but Adrian noticed—he noticed everything.
"You can keep pretending, Valeria," he said, his voice low, his tone calm but possessive. "Pretend you don't notice me, pretend you don't care. But deep down, you already know—I'm not leaving. Not today, not ever."
Her eyes locked on his, fire meeting storm. "Then you'll only make my life hell."
Adrian's smirk widened, dark and unwavering. "If hell means having you close, then I'll gladly burn."
At that moment, Leo approached from across the hall, his presence snapping the tension like glass. He glanced between the two, suspicion in his eyes, before resting a protective hand on his sister's shoulder.
"Valeria," Leo said firmly, "Father's calling for us."
She nodded quickly, grateful for the interruption. As Leo guided her away, Adrian's eyes followed them, unwavering, the smile never leaving his lips.
In his mind, the party was not about Marco's return, nor about power and politics. It was about her. And tonight only confirmed one thing for Adrian Vitale—
Valeria Caruso was already his, whether she admitted it or not.
Later in the evening, after endless greetings and chatter, Valeria slipped away to a quieter corner of the hall. She let out a soft sigh, resting her glass on the small table nearby, grateful to have a moment away from the crowd.
"Hello."
She turned to find a boy about her age standing before her. Dark hair neatly styled, sharp suit, and a polite smile—he carried himself with the calm confidence of someone who belonged in the Mafia world yet didn't flaunt it.
"I'm Lorenzo Bianchi," he said warmly, offering his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you. Marco Caruso's daughter, right?"
Valeria hesitated but nodded, politely shaking his hand. "Valeria Caruso. Nice to meet you too."
Lorenzo chuckled softly. "I've heard about you. Captain of the volleyball team, right? My cousin's school played against yours last season—he still complains about the loss."
Valeria allowed herself a small laugh. "Well, I can't apologise for winning."
The two exchanged light conversation, an ease Valeria hadn't felt all evening. For once, she didn't feel like the "mafia daughter" in a room full of powerful families—just a girl having a normal talk.
But that moment didn't last long.
Across the hall, Adrian Vitale stood with a glass of whiskey in hand, deep in conversation with an older capo. His eyes, however, weren't on the man speaking to him—they were locked on Valeria.
And more importantly, on Lorenzo Bianchi standing too close, making her smile.
Adrian's grip on his glass tightened, the muscles in his jaw flexing. The amber liquid rippled dangerously in his hand, though he didn't notice. His stare was cold, sharp, burning a hole straight through the boy who had dared approach his Valeria.
Salvatore Vitale noticed his son's distraction and leaned in quietly. "Adrian. Keep yourself calm. Not here."
Adrian didn't respond. His smirk was faint, dangerous, as he muttered under his breath:
"He won't last."