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"Dante's men." Alessio enters fully, closing the door behind him. "We've traced the security breach back to his lieutenant. The one who disappeared last week."

I hold back the dark laugh threatening to escape. "Disappeared? Such a clean word for such a messy end."

Dante's lieutenant hadn't disappeared so much as decorated my basement walls with his final confessions. His blood still stains my favorite leather gloves - the ones I wore while extracting every detail about who ordered him to violate my mother's tomb.

"His name was Antonio Cornelli," I supply, remembering the man whose brain I'd picked off my shirt last week.

Alessio nods sharply. "Yeah. And it's not just the warehouse. Everything—the shipping schedules, the security rotations at Elena's tomb, the meeting times with the Volkovs. All leaked directly to our competitors."

The pieces click together with sickening clarity.

Dante—my brother turned rival—working actively against family interests as the Throne slips away from his grasp. He's been working quickly ever since the night I married. Setting up distractions. Creating chaos while positioning himself to claim the throne the moment it's vacated.

My phone vibrates on the desk, screen lighting up with an unknown number. London area code.

I answer, voice controlled despite the rage building beneath my skin. "Speak."

"Luca Ravelli." The voice slithers through the connection, accent thick with Russian vowels. Demyan Volkov. "I believe we have something to discuss regarding your... wife."

Instinct screams danger through my veins.

I'm pregnant, Luca.

"What about my wife?"

"Let's just say we have proof of her... heritage." A pause on the line weighs heavy in my father's empty office. "Proof that she belongs with us, not you."

My grip tightens on the phone. "If you go near her—"

"Calm yourself, Ravelli." Demyan's laugh grates against my ear. "We simply wish to share information. I simply request another meeting. Tonight. To discuss the truth about Bianca's bloodline."

Bianca's words echo in my mind—her father, Alexei Petrov, defected to the Volkovs. For her mother. For her.

"Whatever you think you know—"

"We know enough," Demyan interrupts. "The Gramercy Hotel, East London. One hour. Come alone, and we'll explain exactly why your father has been so... interested in your civilian bride."

The call ends instantly, silence filling the vacuum like poison gas.

Nico watches me carefully, calculating the implications of the conversation he just witnessed. "The Volkovs claim they can prove something about Bianca?"

"So it seems." I pocket my phone, mind racing through scenarios, contingencies, traps. "They want a meeting. Tonight."

"It's Dante," Alessio interjects, certainty hardening his features. "Don't be fooled. Don't go. This has his fingerprints all over it."

"And if it isn't?"

Alessio raises a brow. "Luca, come on. First the warehouse, then your mother's tomb, now this—direct contact from the Volkovs about your wife? Too coordinated to be coincidence."

He's right. The timing is too perfect. Each incident designed to pull me away from the estate at exactly the right time, to divide my attention, to create vulnerabilities where none existed before.

Just like everything else.

I'm pregnant. With your child.

"I agree, Alessio." I straighten my tie, my decision crystallizing with cold certainty. "Which is why I'll meet with them. Alone."

Nico steps forward, concern creasing his brow. "Luca. It's obviously a trap. That's exactly what they want, you to leave right now."