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Then, a single tear tracks down her cheek to fall upon my chest like a brand.

"I love you too, Luca," she whispers. "I love you too."

We share a moment of clarity. Because this is about more than claiming her. This isherclaimingme.

Her pace quickens, her body chasing release as I thrust up to meet her. I feel her pussy tightening around me, her thighs trembling as she approaches the edge. My thumb finds her clit, circling the swollen bud until she shatters with a cry that might be my name or a prayer.

Her orgasm triggers my own, my cock pulsing deep inside her as I fill her with my seed, marking her from the inside out once more.

She collapses against my chest, our bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in perfect synchrony.

"The coronation ceremony," I say against her heated skin as she curls against my chest, her breathing slowly evening out. "It will announce you formally as my queen. We tell the world you will be the mother of the next Ravelli heir."

Her hand finds mine, guiding it to rest on her abdomen where our child grows.

The gesture is protective, possessive in a way I recognize intimately.

"What kind of world will we give this baby, Luca?" Her voice carries both hope and fear. "What kind of legacy?"

I trace circles on her skin, imagining the life developing beneath my touch.

"A safer one than the world I knew. More secure. More balanced."

"How is that even possible?"

"By breaking the cycle," I say, certainty growing with each word. "By ruling differently than those who came before us."

She studies me, eyes searching for truth in my words. "But Dante? The Volkovs? Aren't they a part of this new approach?"

My jaw tightens.

"Ah… good to see you still have some things to learn, little rabbit. Because, though change will come, some older debts remain. Debts that can only be paid in blood."

She nods, understanding without judgment.

"Sleep," I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "There's one more thing I must do tonight, and then I'll join you."

***

The family crypt stands separate from the main estate. A stone edifice surrounded by ancient yew trees that whisper in the night breeze. Guards patrol its perimeter, doubled since the desecration of my mother's tomb.

I approach alone, the path illuminated only by moonlight filtering through branches overhead. The heavy iron door swings open at my touch.

Inside, marble and shadow create a cathedral to the dead. Generations of Ravellis rest in the walls, names and dates etched in stone that will outlast any empire we build.

My mother's tomb has been repaired—the damage from Dante's desecration erased as if it never happened. Fresh flowers rest in the bronze vase before her nameplate. Roses, her favorite.

I don't need to ask who placed them there.

My wife has a way of understanding without being told what matters most.

I kneel before Elena Ravelli's final resting place, placing my father's funeral program at the base of her tomb. The irony isn't lost on me—the man who ordered her death now joining her in eternal rest. The cycle completing itself in marble and memory.

"It's done, mother," I say into the silence, my voice echoing softly against stone. "The crown is mine now."

My fingers trace her name, carved deep into polished granite.ELENA MICHELA RAVELLI. BELOVED MOTHER. The dates of her too-short life bracketing a legacy that lives on in me.

"And you were right," I continue, remembering her words from the journal Bianca now keeps beside our bed, forcing me to read segments that she finds. "I found her. The woman who loves me the way you did. The woman who would kill to protect what's hers, just as you would have."