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"You were looking for safety," Luca observes without judgment.

I nod. "I thought a normal life with a normal man would heal what was broken in me." A bitter laugh escapes. "Ironic that I ended up with you instead."

"Because I know you, Bianca." His thumb traces patterns on my skin. "I've seen inside you in ways no one else has. And what I've found there has only ever been truth. Even when that truth was defiance."

A smile touches my lips. "You once told me I was a terrible liar."

"The worst," he agrees, a rare warmth lighting his eyes. "Besides, I had Nico investigate those shell companies Vito mentioned. The hotel you worked at was never connected to Dante. Just another of my father's manipulations, trying to turn us against each other in his final moments."

I exhale, long and deep. "He was good at that, wasn't he? Turning people against each other."

Luca's expression darkens. "He spent decades perfecting the art of manipulation. Of finding weaknesses and exploiting them."

"And yet, in the end..."

"In the end, he underestimated the strength of what we've built." Luca's hands finds mine, squeezing gently. "The one thing he could never understand was genuine loyalty. The kind that isn't bought or forced, but freely given."

"Is this what it feels like for you?" I ask. "When you kill someone?"

His expression shifts, something dangerous and sad crossing his face in equal measure. "The first time? Yes. A hollowing out. Like you've lost something you didn't realize you had until it was gone."

"And now?"

"Now it's just business," he says, but his eyes tell a different story. One of accumulated weight, of choices that leave marks invisible to most, but not to me. Not anymore.

"He was your father, Luca."

Luca's jaw tightens. "He stopped being my father the day he ordered my mother's execution."

The silence between us holds the weight of fifteen years of grief and rage. Of a son who watched his mother die, who built his life around vengeance of that moment, only to have that purpose fulfilled by someone else's hand.

By mine.

"I would do it again," I say suddenly, an unexpected certainty cutting through the fog of shock. "He was aiming at me. At our baby. I'd do it again."

Pride, relief, and a dark satisfaction that should disturb me flashes in Luca's eyes.

"I know," he says, reaching for the sponge Teresa abandoned. "That's why you're a Ravelli. That's why you will stand by me and become my queen as I claim the throne tomorrow."

***

After a night spent in Luca's arms—him holding me through the tremors that wracked my body as the adrenaline faded, through the moment when the reality of what I'd done finally broke through the shock—morning light spills through the curtains.

I dress carefully for breakfast, selecting a conservative black dress. Mourning attire, though what I'm mourning isn't entirely Vito.

Perhaps it's the final death of Bianca Sutton, hotel maid.

Perhaps it's the innocence I surrendered when I pulled that trigger.

Or perhaps, I just don't fucking know anymore.

"How are you feeling?" Luca asks, watching me apply concealer to the dark circles beneath my eyes.

"Tired," I answer honestly. "But... clearer, somehow."

He steps behind me, hands resting on my shoulders as we both stare into the mirror.

We make a striking pair, to be blunt.