The Don’s Heiress Won’t Choose Him Again Chapter 10
After dinner, Dominic drove me back to the estate.
Night had settled over Long Island. A salt-tinged breeze drifted in through the open windows.
Neither of us said much on the drive, but his hand stayed firmly wrapped around mine, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles.
At the estate gates, he came around and opened my door, then stood there looking at me, wanting to say something but not quite finding the words.
“What is it?” I looked up at him.
“Valentina.” He said my name, his voice quieter than usual.
“What Roman said today…”
I pressed my finger against his lips.
“Dominic Falcone. Have you still not understood what I told you?”
His eyes widened slightly.
I rose on my toes, sliding my hands up to his shoulders, and pressed a soft but unwavering kiss to his lips.
“I told you. The one I love is you. Not out of spite. Not for revenge. Not as a substitute. I love you.”
Dominic’s breathing suddenly went ragged.
The next moment, he pulled me hard against him and held me there, his chin against the crown of my head. His voice trembled with something he couldn’t contain.
“Valentina, do you know… how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?”
I let myself rest against his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart, and felt my mouth curve into a smile.
“From this day on,” he said, his voice low and grave, “no one will ever hurt you. No one.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his chest.
This life, I had finally made the right choice.
A week later, at Sunday dinner, Don Enzo formally announced the date of our wedding.
The wedding would be held in a month. The church had been chosen. The invitations were being sent.
The night the news went out, Roman called.
I didn’t answer.
Dominic glanced at the caller ID and said nothing. He simply reached over and flipped my phone face-down.
Then he went back to cutting the steak on his plate, as though nothing had happened.
I couldn’t help laughing.
“Not curious what he wanted to say?”
“Not curious.” He didn’t look up. Then he added, “It doesn’t matter what he wants to say. What matters is that you’re mine.”
He said it plainly, and with quiet arrogance. My face grew warm.
“Your possessiveness is getting worse.”
He finally raised his eyes to look at me, faint amusement in those dark depths.
“Mm. Because it’s you.”
On the day of the wedding, the church was full.
Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting jewel-colored patterns on the white marble floor.
I wore a custom white gown, my hand tucked into the crook of my father’s arm as we walked slowly toward the altar.
Dominic stood at the front, the black three-piece suit making his tall figure look even more striking.
The moment he saw me, his usually composed eyes suddenly shone with unshed tears.
He blinked quickly, trying to hide it.
But I saw.
I reached him, and he held out his hand. His fingers closed firmly around mine.
The priest’s voice echoed through the church. “Dominic Falcone. Do you take Valentina Moretti to be your wedded wife, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“I do.” His voice was steady and strong, without hesitation.
“Valentina Moretti. Do you take Dominic Falcone to be your wedded husband, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
I looked into his eyes. Those eyes held nothing but my reflection.
“I do.”
The church filled with applause.
Dominic bent his head and kissed me.
The kiss was light, tender, as if he were afraid to break something precious.
But the arm around my waist held me fiercely tight—as though he wanted to press me into his very bones.
At the reception after the wedding, I noticed a familiar figure in the corner of the back row of the church.
Roman.
He had no invitation. I had no idea how he’d gotten in.
He just sat there in the back, in a rumpled suit, looking as though he hadn’t slept properly in days.
He said nothing. He simply watched us exchange our vows. Watched Dominic kiss me. Watched everyone applaud.
From beginning to end, he never said a word.
When the reception was over and the guests had gone, I found something he’d left on the steps by the door—
A letter, pressed beneath a small velvet box.
I opened the box. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a tiny sapphire pendant.
I recognized it. Roman had bought it years ago, in some little shop on a street corner, while he was out on a job.
He’d said the blue matched my eyes.
I’d been happy about it for a very, very long time.
I didn’t open the letter.
I closed the box and handed it to the attendant beside me.
“Get rid of it.”
Dominic came up behind me. He’d taken off his jacket—he was in just his waistcoat and shirt, his tie loosened.
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder.
“Cold?”
“Not cold.”
He was silent for a moment. Then, softly, “Thank you for choosing me, Valentina.”
“This life. The next life. Every life.”
I turned in his arms, slid my hands up around his neck, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Every life,” I echoed.
The night wind moved through the evergreen ivy of the Long Island estate. Above us, the sky was thick with stars.
The story of this life, at last, had found its proper ending.
(The End)