The Surrender of the Twin Dons Chapter 11

The Surrender of the Twin Dons Chapter 11

Luciana’s pov

Finishing Salvatore’s letter left a hollow ache in my chest.

Back when Vincenzo was chasing me, I’d gotten letters like this—more than ten of them.

And look where all that empty devotion had gotten me.

I knew Salvatore wasn’t Vincenzo.

But in a Mafia family, how much of any man’s affection could ever be genuine, and how much was merely another layer of deception?

Luciana, don’t let anything cage you again.

I powered off my phone and boarded the plane.

By my second year studying in Italy, the silence had settled into something like peace.

That’s when I ran into Jack—one of Vincenzo’s old lackeys—near campus.

He insisted on dragging me into a café for afternoon tea.

Naturally, the conversation drifted to Vincenzo.

“Heard the higher-ups planned to transfer him out to Palermo.”

“No clue why Don Rizzo let him stay in New York instead.”

“He’s calmed down a lot. Actually handling family business now.”

Jack eyed me carefully. “Haven’t seen him with a new girl. Someone mentioned you at a party last month—the look on his face? Yeah. Still hung up on you.”

He sighed.

I just smiled and said nothing.

“Thing is… he and Don Rizzo still aren’t speaking.”

My hand, curled around my coffee cup, twitched—just barely.

“Don Rizzo was supposed to marry this year. Called it off.”

“Heard his fiancée married into a Boston family instead.”

I set the cup down, stood. “I have class. Rain check?”

“Luciana—”

Jack walked me out, still couldn’t help himself. “You and Vincenzo… really over?”

“I get it, he acted like a reckless brute back then.”

“But from what I heard, it was a misunderstanding. He never actually slept with that model—”

I cut him off, frowning. “Don’t bring him up again, please.”

“…Alright.”

“Thanks for the tea.”

“Aw, c’mon. No need.”

“Later.”

“Luciana—when are you heading back to New York? Everyone misses you.”

“We’ll see.”

I waved, pulled my Burberry coat tighter, and turned into the autumn wind.

Hearing about Salvatore and Vincenzo again felt surreal.

Life in Italy had been quiet.

Salvatore had given me more than enough money. Left guards nearby—discreet, never showing their faces, but I always knew they were there.

Honestly? I’d never expected him to respect my choice like this.

As Don of the Rizzos, he’d stayed eerily silent.

Is he alright?

Buried in family business? Or family engagements?

A black Maybach glided past.

I paused mid-step.

But the car didn’t slow. Merged seamlessly into traffic.

I huffed a quiet, self-mocking laugh and shook my head.

Kept walking.

At the crosswalk, the wind picked up.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Then—my name. From behind.

“Hey, Luciana.”

I turned, instinctively.

And instantly crashed into a pair of deep, unfathomable eyes, dark as the depths of the Sicilian sea.

“Hey… Salvatore.”