Mafia Don’s Lost Heiress Chapter 07
Carolina stormed out and slammed the door behind her.
The slam echoed across the entire floor, and the whole
place went silent for a moment.
Don Valenti turned back to me, completely at a loss.
“Willow, Daddy will do better.”
“I know nothing I say right now will fix this.”
“Judge me by what I do from now on, okay?”
I turned toward the window without answering.
That afternoon, Laura texted me.
Laura: [Girl, I heard you found your real dad. Is it
really Don Valenti?]
I typed and deleted several replies before finally
sending just one word.
Me: [Yeah.]
The reply came almost immediately.
Laura: [Carolina must be furious. I haven’t forgotten a
single one of those slaps she gave you. Just wait—I’ll make her pay.]
I stared at the screen for a long time before slowly
typing my answer.
Me: [Don’t. I’ll handle her myself.]
On the day I was discharged, Don Valenti came to pick
me up himself.
He wore a clean shirt, and his hair was combed neatly into place, as though he was afraid I might see how badly the past few days had worn him down.
“Willow, I’m taking you home.”
We drove onto the Valenti estate.
It wasn’t an apartment or even an ordinary mansion. It was a sprawling private compound enclosed by iron
gates and ancient oak trees, with surveillance cameras
and private guards throughout.
The guards at the entrance recognized the plates and
gave a respectful nod as the gates opened.
The car stopped in front of the main house, and Marco opened my door.
“Welcome home, Miss Valenti.”
Standing at the foot of the steps, I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
The place was too vast, too quiet, and too unfamiliar.
Don Valenti stood beside me and said carefully, “If you
don’t like it here, we can find somewhere else.”
I shook my head.
When I entered the main house, the most prominent
wall in the living room was covered in photographs.
There were photos from my first birthday, photos of
me riding a carousel and feeding pigeons, and photos of me laughing as I leaned against my father’s
shoulder.
I was in every one of them.
Beside the photographs hung missing–person posters
updated over the years.
They showed me at ages three, five, ten, fifteen, and eighteen.
After that came computer–generated age–progression
images of what I might look like as an adult.
Standing behind me, he spoke in a low voice.
“I had them updated every year.”
“I knew you would look different as you grew up.”
“But I was always afraid they would get your face wrong–that if you came home, you wouldn’t recognize yourself.”
I stared at the wall, and tears suddenly slipped downmy face.
He panicked. He started to reach for me, as though he
wanted to wipe them away, but stopped himself before he touched me.
“Willow?”
I sniffled.
“Which room is mine?”
He immediately led me upstairs.
The room was pale pink. Several old stuffed animals
sat on the bed, and a small potted willow sapling rested
on the windowsill.
“You loved pink when you were little.”
He rubbed his hands together awkwardly.
“I don’t know what you like now, so I set the room up
this way for now. If you don’t like it, we’ll change
everything tomorrow.”
I looked at the little tree.
“Thank you.”
Over the next few days, he began restoring my identity one document at a time.
He took me to the family attorney, had my birth certificate reissued, restored my legal identity, got me a state ID, and formally updated the old missing–person file to record that I had been found.
More importantly, Marco placed a heavy black leather
book in front of me.
“This is the Valenti family registry.”
Don Valenti opened it himself and turned to the first
page, where the family’s line of succession was recorded.
Beneath the dust was the name Willow Emilia Valenti.
He picked up a pen and wrote one word beside it:
Returned.
That was the moment I finally understood.
I wasn’t an orphan people could pass from one person to the next.
I was the Valenti family’s blood heiress, missing for twenty years.