Page 104

When I wake, sunlight streams through the partially opened curtains. I reach across the bed before my mind fully registers what I’m doing, searching for his warmth, his solidity.

My hand meets cold sheets. He’s gone, leaving only the scent of his cologne and the ache between my thighs.

No note. No explanation. Just the silence of my beautiful, empty penthouse.

I curl into myself, one hand resting protectively over my stomach, and try to ignore the hollow feeling expanding in my chest.

This changes nothing, I tell myself fiercely. This was just sex. Just a moment of weakness. And yet I feel like I’ve handed him a piece of my soul.

32

MARCO

Ican still smell her on my skin when I walk into my office three hours later.

Aria’s scent lingers on my skin—familiar, maddening. All I want is to turn back, drag her into bed, and lose myself in her until she forgets the war and remembers where she belongs—here, with me.

But I can’t. Not yet.

She let it slip in a moment of rage—that she was pregnant. She didn’t plan to tell me, convinced I’d never let them go if I knew.

I’m no fool. I won’t force her back into my home. I’ll make her walk in of her own free will. Which means, for now, I had to walk away.

But the taste of her surrender still burns on my cock, the memory of her body arching beneath mine a sweet torture that threatens my sanity. For those precious moments, the hatred melted away, and everything felt right.

She’s mine. She’ll always be mine, no matter what war she thinks she’s fighting.

I try to sift through the paperwork, my mind still on her when Nicolo interrupts.

“Boss? We need to talk.”

He looks grim. It’s never good news when Nicolo looks grim.

I gesture to the chair across from my desk, and he takes it. “The DeLuca situation is escalating faster than we anticipated.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, though I already know what he means.

“Your wife just declared war on us in the open. She’s not hiding anymore, Marco. She’s building an army, and every day you delay gives her more time to strengthen her position.”

I lean back in my chair, studying his face. Nicolo has been with me for eight years. He’s seen me through blood feuds and business deals, stood by my side through every brutal decision I’ve made without flinching. But now, for the first time, I see fear in his eyes.

“She won’t succeed,” I say.

“Won’t she?” He pulls out his phone, scrolling through something before sliding it across the desk. “She hit three more of our operations last night. While you were—” He stops himself just in time. “While you were otherwise occupied.”

The photos on his screen show the devastating aftermath of the strikes. My warehouses are reduced to smoking ruins, my men in body bags.

What Nicolo doesn’t know is that this is only the beginning. I know my wife. She’s no longer the whimpering, petrified woman I married. She’s grown into her own power, and for that, despite everything, I feel pride.

“Six more of our are now dead,” Nicolo sounds hollow. “She’s picking us apart piece by piece, and you’re letting her because you can’t see past your cock.”

I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved, my hand wrapped around his throat, slamming him back against the chair.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growl, applying just enough pressure to make breathing difficult. “You forget who you’re talking to.”

His hands come up in surrender. Smart man. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. “But Jesus, Marco, she’s going to destroy everything we’ve built. Everything your father built. And you’re letting her because you’re in love with her.”

I release him, stepping back as the truth of his words settles like lead in my stomach. He’s right. Every rational part of my brain knows he’s right.