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"Luca, if this is about me—about my past—I have a right to be there." Her hands press against my chest, creating space between us so she can meet my gaze directly.

I cup her face between my palms, thumbs tracing the curve of her cheekbones.

"You have a right to safety, my love. To protection. Especially now." My gaze drops meaningfully to her abdomen. "Thismeetinghas Dante's fingerprints all over it. It's a trap, little rabbit, and I won't risk you or our child stepping into it."

"Luca, if you're so sure it's a trap, then why are you going?"

I trace my thumb across her lower lip, memorizing the softness there. "Because, my love, I need them to believe they have me exactly where they want me."

Her breath catches as my grip tightens on her jaw.

"And then I'm going to make them wish they'd never heard the name Luca Ravelli." My voice drops to a whisper against her ear. "I'm going to paint that room with their blood. I'm going to take their tongues before they can scream, their eyes before they can blink, and their hearts while they still beat. And I'm going to send what's left back to Dmitri piece by piece until he understands exactly what happens when someone threatens to take my wife and my unborn child away from me."

She trembles in my grasp, but doesn't pull away. "You really think they mean to hurt me?"

"No, little rabbit." I press my forehead to hers. "They mean to use you to hurt me. And for that, those filthy fucking Russian's need to die screaming."

Her fingers curl into my shirt. "Luca..."

"This is who I am, Bianca. This is the monster you married. And tonight, I'm going to remind everyone why they should fear my name once again."

Something shifts in her expression. The fierce independence that first drew me to her softening into something more complex.

Not submission, never that, but understanding. Partnership. Trust.

"Promise me you'll be careful," she whispers, fingers curling into my shirt.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing the same air, sharing the same space like it might be the last time I do.

"Always," I vow, sealing the promise with a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, my control slipping as always happens when she's in my arms.

Her robe parts beneath my hands, exposing warm skin and soft curves that respond instantly to my touch. For a moment, I consider taking her again—marking her as mine one final time before facing whatever trap awaits me.

But time presses against us, and the Volkovs aren't known for their patience.

I break the kiss, trailing my lips across her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her shiver.

"When I return," I promise darkly, "I'll remind you exactly how that baby came to be inside you."

Her answering moan vibrates against my chest, sending heat straight to my core. "And if the Volkovs convince you otherwise?" she challenges, never one to surrender completely. "If they have proof I carry enemy blood?"

I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, letting her see the truth that burns behind my eyes. "You could be Dmitri Volkov's daughter herself, and it wouldn't matter. You're mine, Bianca."

My hand drifts to her stomach, resting possessively over the life we've created together. "This child is mine. A Ravelli heir, regardless of what blood runs in your veins."

Tears shimmer in her eyes, though she'd deny their existence if questioned.

A knock at the door signals Matteo's arrival. Good. Perhaps Vito has returned too.

I press one final kiss to Bianca's forehead, inhaling her scent like a man preparing for battle.

"Lock the door behind me," I instruct, stepping back reluctantly. "Trust only Matteo and Teresa until I return."

I turn and walk away from the woman who carries my child, toward whatever threat Dante and the Volkovs have orchestrated in their desperate bid to claim what rightfully belongs to me.

And then, upon my return, I will deal with my father and claim the throne.

Chapter Twenty-Five