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She turns her head just enough to meet my gaze, question in her eyes.

"It's about worship," I admit, the words dragged from somewhere too honest to examine closely. "You're my chaos. My weakness." I brush damp hair from her face, a gesture so tender it almost hurts. "My queen."

I don't tell her the rest. That if anyone else ever touches what I've claimed, I'll kill them smiling. That her betrayal cut me not because she saw my files, but because she might learn I'm obsessed with every detail of her existence.

That the files contain more than research—they contain evidence of how deeply she's burrowed under my skin.

Instead, I wash her body with gentle hands, the opposite of the man who dominated her minutes before. I tend to the marks I've left, ensuring none will last longer than a day or two.

"The Volkovs," I say quietly as I stroke a washcloth over her shoulder. "They want to meet you. It's approaching quickly and we must be prepared."

She stiffens in my arms. "Why?"

"That's what I intend to find out." I press my lips to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. "But in the meantime, there will be no more snooping through my files. If you want to know something, you ask. Understood?"

She nods, but there's still defiance in the set of her shoulders. It makes me want to drag her back to the bench and fuck her into obedience all over again.

"I saw my mother's name," she whispers.

There's something in her voice—not anger, but a softer emotion. Something almost like longing.

"You miss her."

She's quiet for a moment, water lapping gently around us. "Sometimes. Even though she doesn't know who I am anymore." Her voice drops lower. "I haven't been to see her since... well, it's been awhile."

I tighten my arm around her waist, pulling her closer against my chest. "Would you like to?"

The question seems to surprise her. She twists slightly, looking up at me with uncertainty. "You'd let me?"

"I'd take you myself." The possessiveness in my voice is unmistakable. "I will be there too, of course. But we take my security detail, my car. No chances."

She considers this, eyes searching mine. "Because of what your father said? About the Volkovs?"

My little rabbit misses nothing.

I press my lips to her temple. "The Volkovs are circling. My father's weakness is blood in the water, and now you—" I trace my fingertips along her collarbone, "—are another point of interest for them."

"Luca, I don't understand. Why would they care about me? I'm nobody."

I smile against her skin. "You're a Ravelli now. That makes you either a target or an asset. Either way, they're watching."

She shivers, but not from fear. From understanding, finally, what it means to belong to me in name and in blood. That love in our world doesn’t protect—it paints targets.

"I've been thinking about what my father said yesterday." I measure my words carefully. "Something about my mother. About her death."

Bianca goes very still in my arms. "And?"

"Well, I don't think that the story I was told about who killed her is true." The admission burns in my throat. "I am starting to think that the enemies closest to us are often the ones we never see coming."

She absorbs this, putting pieces together as she always does. "You think someone in your family..."

I silence her with a single finger to her lips.

“No,my love,” I say. "Those aren't thoughts to speak aloud, even here."

The words slip out easily. Too easily.

And for a moment, the world goes still.