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She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at me like I’ve pulled the floor out from beneath her. Because I didn’t call herlittle rabbit. I didn’t saywife. I didn’t growlminewhile I pushed her to the edge.

My love.

The words hang in the air between us, warm and terrifying and unmistakably real.

I see it hit her. I could take it back. Roll over it. Pretend it didn’t matter.

But I don’t.

Because it does matter.

It matters a whole fucking lot.

Later, when I've dried her and carried her back to our bed, I watch her slip into exhausted sleep. She doesn’t have to speak. I know that her silence isn’t distance. It’sprocessing.

She thought tonight was about secrets. About punishment. About power.

But what I gave her was something far more dangerous than pain.

I gave her the truth.

And whether she knows it or not, she owns me now.

Not just my house. Not just my name.

But the parts I never intended to give.

Chapter Fifteen

Luca

Aweekpasseslikewater through my fingers.

Each day, Bianca grows more comfortable in my home. In my bed. In my life. Small changes I notice because I'm always watching—the way she no longer flinches when a guard appears, the ease with which she navigates the corridors that once felt like a maze to her.

With the Volkov meeting less than two weeks away, I find myself watching her more closely, preparing her without telling her the full extent of what she might face in that room of wolves.

She still keeps secrets. As do I. But there's a rhythm between us now, a dance of power and submission that somehow feels like... balance.

After the night in my playroom, something shifted. My admission—those fucking words I never meant to say—changed things between us.

For seven days, I've watched her recalibrate, finding her footing in this new territory where she has both a collar and a crown.

I've taken her each night since—sometimes in my playroom, sometimes gently, sometimes with a brutality that leaves marks.

But each time, she meets me halfway. Each time, she gives herself more completely.

And each time, I find it harder to remember why I ever thought I could keep my heart locked away from her.

Today marks a week since I opened my sanctuary to her. Since those words slipped past defenses I've maintained my entire fucking life.

My father has been silent, conserving his strength for whatever game he's playing. Dante watches Bianca with narrowed eyes whenever they cross paths. Nico maintains his carefully crafted distance, observing everything, revealing nothing.

And the Volkovs continue to circle, their shadows growing longer by the day.

My phone buzzes against the mahogany desk in my study. Matteo's name flashes on the screen.

"Speak," I answer, eyes still on the documents before me—shipment manifests for our Rotterdam operation, numbers that don't align with what I expect.