Page 97

The water laps at my skin, fragrant with rosemary and something sharper tonight. Maybe something meant to clear the head.

I close my eyes, trying to imagine the face of a man I've never known. A Russian who worked for the Ravellis until he chose my mother over loyalty to Vito's throne.

"Did Luca know? When he claimed me that night, did he know who I was?"

Teresa's hands pause in my hair. "No. That much I'm certain of. Whatever game Vito is playing, Luca was not privy to it."

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by fresh dread. "Vito said he's been watching me my whole life. Waiting to use me as leverage."

"Don't let his illness fool you. The Don plays many games at once," Teresa confirms, working shampoo through my hair. "He's a master that moves pieces across boards only he can see."

"And I'm just another piece." The realization settles cold in my stomach. "A pawn in whatever war he's waging against his own son."

"No piece is ever just a pawn, if it moves correctly." Teresa's voice carries a lifetime of observation from the shadows. "You've survived in this house longer than many thought possible. You've claimed Luca in ways none expected. Don't underestimate your own power, Bianca."

She guides me to lean back, rinsing my hair with warm water. The familiar ritual should be soothing, but my mind races too quickly for comfort.

"Tell me about my father," I say. "Please. I need to know something real."

Teresa's movements slow, considering. "He had your eyes. The same amber color, the same directness. He spoke six languages fluently. Could charm information from anyone. Had a laugh that filled rooms."

She smiles faintly at some memory. A memory of him that I've never had the chance of smiling at.

"And I know that he loved your mother desperately. From the moment they met. He loved her so much, he did the unthinkable. He did enough to risk everything."

"Is he still alive?" I ask, hope fluttering weakly despite everything.

The question hangs between us, unanswered as Teresa helps me from the bath, wrapping me in a thick towel.

A wave of dizziness hits as I stand, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. I grip the edge of the sink, breathing through the sudden nausea that's become too familiar to ignore.

"Are you alright?" Teresa asks, steadying me with a hand at my elbow.

"Fine," I respond automatically. "Just stood up too quickly."

But it's more than that.

When I went to see my mother without permission, I'd stopped at a pharmacy first. Bought a test on impulse, performed it in the care facility's bathroom before visiting my mom.

I'd been so distracted by Luca's arrival, by the desecration of Elena's tomb, that I'd pushed the results from my mind.

Positive.

It's nausea in the mornings. The aching tenderness in my breasts. The exhaustion that drags at me despite long hours of sleep.

And now… the realization dawns with perfect clarity as I meet my reflection in the mirror, one hand instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach.

I'm carrying Luca's child.

A new Ravelli heir.

Another piece on Vito's chessboard.

Teresa's eyes in the mirror watch me too carefully, missing nothing. I meet her gaze, silently pleading for her discretion.

She nods once, understanding passing between us without words. This secret, at least, will remain mine to reveal when I choose.

As she helps me dress in a simple shift, footsteps echo in the hallway outside our suite.