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"Speak," he commands, voice instantly shifting from the softness he'd used with me to the cold authority of Luca Ravelli, heir to an empire built on blood.

I feel him stiffen as he listens, the muscles in his arm turning to steel beneath my cheek.

"When?" he asks. "How much was lost?" A longer pause. "Who had clearance to change it?"

I sit up slightly, watching his face harden into the mask I recognize from the underground meeting. The predator returning to the surface.

"Who's responsible, Matteo?" Luca's voice drops dangerously. "Don't protect him."

Whatever Matteo says next makes Luca's jaw clench.

"Dante," he spits, not a question but a certainty laced with venom.

I remember Dante at brunch, his mocking smile, the calculated way he tried to undermine Luca and me. The tension between the brothers that seemed to run deeper than mere rivalry.

"What about the eastern warehouse?" Luca asks. "Any unusual activity?" He listens intently. "Double the security. No one enters without direct authorization from me. And Matteo? Gather what proof you can, but take no action yet. This requires... personal attention."

When he hangs up, it's like watching a transformation. The man who comforted me receding behind the cold, calculating eyes of the Ravelli heir. The comfort of moments ago feels like a dream I might have imagined.

"What's happened?" I ask quietly.

His fingers drum against his thigh, a rhythm of controlled rage. "A shipment was lost. High-value merchandise. The route was changed at the last minute, and authorization like that only comes from family."

"Dante," I echo, remembering the name he'd growled.

Luca's eyes meet mine, and they're the eyes of the wolf my mother warned about—gray and merciless, seeing everything, missing nothing.

"The same brother who left security gaps on our wedding night," Luca explains. "When the eastern warehouse was breached. Too many coincidences. Too many mistakes from a man who doesn't make them."

"What will you do?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His smile is sharp enough to cut glass. "What Ravellis have always done to traitors. But tonight, we do not need to worry."

Chapter Seventeen

Luca

Thecarpullsthroughthe wrought iron gates of the estate, the gravel drive crunching beneath the tires.

The car curves around the fountain, and I catch Alessio's subtle nod through the rearview mirror. The estate is secure. Whatever games Dante is playing, they won't reach us here. Not tonight.

I watch Bianca's profile in the fading light, her delicate features etched with exhaustion. The visit to her mother has left her raw. Vulnerable. Yet even now, she holds herself with that quiet defiance that first drew me to her.

My phone buzzes. Another message from Matteo about the shipment situation. About Dante.

Not now.

I silence the device and slide it into my jacket pocket. My brother's recent pattern of "mistakes" can wait. The warehouse, the security gaps - they paint a clear picture.

But tonight belongs to Bianca.

She stares silently out the window, lost in the revelations from her mother's care facility. Questions weigh heavy in my mind, pieces of a puzzle I'm only beginning to assemble.

Teresa awaits us at the entrance, her rigid posture softening slightly at the sight of Bianca's pale face. Her eyes meet mine over my wife's head, a silent communication born from decades of service.

"Mr. Ravelli," she says, voice formal but tinged with something warmer, "I've taken the liberty of arranging dinner on the east terrace. I thought perhaps the fresh air might be... beneficial after your outing."

I arch an eyebrow. Teresa rarely acts without purpose, and spontaneous garden dinners aren't her usual style.