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The question hangs in the air like smoke, thick and choking. I think of last night, of the way Marco’s hands trembled when he touched my stomach, of the raw pain in his voice when he spoke about our child.

But then I think of my parents, of the blood debt that can never be repaid, of the child growing inside me who deserves a world free from the Bianchi legacy of violence.

I close my eyes for a beat, just long enough to silence the part of me that still sees the man, not the enemy.

But then I think of my parents, of the blood debt that can never be repaid, of the child growing inside me who deserves a world free from the Bianchi legacy of violence.

“Then Marco goes down too,” I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “We leave him alive, but with nothing.”

Chiara inhales sharply beside me, but I don’t look at her. Can’t look at her. If I see the worry in her eyes, the fear for what I’m becoming, I might lose my nerve.

“You’re talking about declaring open war on the most powerful family in the city,” Franco says. “Win or lose, there will be casualties. Innocent people will die.”

“Innocent people have been dying for twenty-five years under Bianchi rule,” I counter. “At least now they’ll die for something meaningful.”

Ettore stands. “I’ve been waiting my entire adult life for this moment,” he says quietly. “For the chance to avenge your parents, to restore honor to the DeLuca name.”

He meets my gaze, and I see steel there. “If you’re truly ready for this, Aria, then so are we.”

One by one, the other men nod their agreement.

“Then it’s decided,” I say, feeling something fundamental shift inside me. “We gather every resource, every weapon, every ally. We make our final preparations.”

“And the target?” Lorenzo asks.

“The Bianchi compound.” The words come out steady, certain. “We hit them where they live. Where they feel safest. We make sure there’s nowhere left for them to hide.”

As the meeting breaks up, I catch my reflection in the window. The woman staring back at me looks like a stranger—beautiful and cold.

Merciless.

A queen prepared to burn the world down to claim her throne.

Chiara lingers as the others file out, her face pale with worry. “Are you sure about this?” she asks when we’re alone.

I rest my hand on my stomach. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And if war is the only way to protect what’s mine, then let it come.

34

MARCO

Islice through my toast and egg, enjoying my peaceful breakfast. Exactly how I like my mornings.

Yesterday’s paper lies beside my plate—Aria on the front page. I haven’t been able to throw it out. Can’t bring myself to stop looking at the beautiful, powerful image of her.

There has been no communication with my father since our confrontation. He’s probably plotting, scheming, gathering his resources for whatever move he thinks will bring Aria to heel.

He can plot all he wants.

I take a bite of the homemade breakfast ham, savoring the perfectly seasoned meat. The chef outdid himself this morning and I plan to enjoy my breakfast to its end.

This might be the last calm morning I have for a while.

Just then, Nicolo appears in the doorway, looking frazzled. Dark circles ring his eyes like he hasn’t slept.

“What now?” I ask with a sigh, setting aside my plate.

“Boss,” he says, slightly out of breath. “We need to talk.”