Page 107

Bianca

Themansionhasbeensilent for hours.

After Luca left, I paced our suite until exhaustion won out and I collapsed into our bed, one hand protectively cradling my flat stomach. Sleep came in fragments—brief moments of unconsciousness broken by nightmares of blood and betrayal.

Now, the moonlight slants through a gap in the curtains, painting silver stripes across the empty sheets beside me.

Three in the morning, and still no Luca.

The Volkovs meeting should have ended hours ago.

My mouth tastes of fear as I slide from the bed, wrapping myself in Luca's discarded shirt. The fabric drowns me, but carries his scent.

Our child shifts beneath my skin—not a physical movement, not yet, but an awareness that has changed everything. I am no longer just Bianca, the hotel maid who became a Ravelli wife.

I am a vessel, a protector, a mother.

I move to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror looks harder than she did weeks ago. My cheekbones are sharper, my eyes darker. Luca's mark has healed into a silvery scar above my heart and the Ravelli crest is now a permanent reminder of whom I belong to.

A sound breaks the silence.

The bedroom door beyond the bathroom clicks, a barely audible release of the lock I know I secured.

It's not Luca. He would have announced himself, would have called out to ease my fear right away.

I reach for the blade Luca keeps taped beneath the sink, one of dozens hidden throughout our wing for moments exactly like this.

Then, the bathroom door bursts open.

"What are you doing?"

Matteo stands in the threshold, expression blank and efficient. Two Ravelli guards flank him, their faces impassive, two sets of giant hands hovering near concealed weapons.

"Mrs. Ravelli," Matteo addresses me with cold formality that makes my skin skittle with goosebumps. "You're needed elsewhere."

My fingers close around the blade, pulling it free. I hold it between us, the steel catching the dim light.

"Where's Luca?" I demand, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Has something happened to him?"

Matteo's mouth tightens, but he doesn't say a word.

"Tell me!" I shout, shaking the knife as tears spike in my eyes. "Tell me where my fucking husband is!"

Matteo stays calm. Too calm. "Your husband is otherwise occupied. The Don has requested your presence. Immediately."

Vito.

Fear coils in my stomach. The man Luca was meant to confront tonight—the man who ordered Elena's murder—now summons me while my protector is absent.

"I'm not going anywhere," I state, lifting my chin with defiance I don't entirely feel. "Luca left orders that I remain here. I will not disrespect his orders."

Matteo's eyebrow twitches—the only break in his perfect composure. He knows, as well as I do, how many times I've defied Luca since becoming his wife.

The guards shift their weight, exchanging knowing glances. They've witnessed my defiance firsthand.

"Mrs. Ravelli," Matteo's voice carries a hint of mockery. "Let's not pretend you've suddenly developed a taste for following rules. Your creative interpretation of Mr. Ravelli's commands is well documented."

He's right.