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I pause when I enter my study, noticing I’m not alone.

“You sounded busy,” comes a familiar voice from the leather chair facing my desk.

My jaw tightens at the realization that we were overheard from the living room. “I don’t recall inviting you to make yourself comfortable in my office, Nicolo.”

Nico turns and grins at me over the chair. “I know,” he shrugs. “But someone has to remind you to focus on work.”

“What is it?” I ask as I walk to take my seat.

“Thought you might want this information immediately,” Nicolo says, tapping a manila folder on the table. “But I can come back later if you’re busy breaking furniture over the DeLuca girl.”

My fingers twitch with the desire to slam Nicolo against a wall. “Whatever you heard?—”

“It doesn’t matter what I heard,” he interjects, his dark eyes glinting with something between amusement and concern. He then leans forward, all trace of humor vanishing. “We have a problem, Marco. Two problems, actually.”

“Fabrizio D’Angelo’s men?”

“Still a concern,” Nicolo confirms. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then?” I ask, leaning forward and folding my hands together.

“Your father is asking questions about your new wife.”

The words drop like stones in still water, sending ripples of unease through me. My father, Aldo Bianchi, rarely concerns himself with my personal life—unless it overlaps with family business. He knew I was marrying a nobody. He took a meeting overseas rather than bother showing up at the wedding once he realized no powerful alliances would be gained. That he’s now asking about Aria…

“What kind of questions?” I keep my voice neutral, giving away none of the sudden tension that coils in my stomach.

Nicolo tosses the folder onto the desk. “See for yourself.”

I open the folder with careful fingers. Inside are surveillance photos, property records, bank statements—all concerning Aria DeLuca and her twin sister, Chiara. My father’s investigators have been thorough, tracing their movements for the past twenty-four hours, documenting their financial struggles, their desperate attempts to stay one step ahead of creditors. But it’s the final pages that make my blood run cold. He’s digging into their background, their parentage, the circumstances of their parents’ deaths twenty-five years ago.

But fortunately, he’s come up empty so far.

“He suspects, doesn’t he?” I ask quietly, looking up at Nicolo.

Nicolo shrugs, a deliberate movement that conveys volumes. “He’s asking the right questions. Whether he’s connected the dots yet… I can’t say.”

I close the folder, my mind racing. My father remembering the DeLuca name is dangerous enough. If he discovers who the twins really are, who their parents were, the consequences would be catastrophic. After all, he thought he’d wiped the bloodline clean off the planet.

“And there’s more,” Nicolo adds, his voice dropping lower. “He wants to meet her.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend.

“A dinner,” he said. “To welcome the woman who’s staying under his son’s roof.”

I shake my head once more. My father rarely makes social overtures without purpose. This is a test, maybe even a trap.

“Does he know about Aria? That I married the wrong twin?”

“I don’t think so,” Nicolo says. “But you won’t be able to hide it forever.”

I say nothing, thoughts whirring in my brain as I consider my admittedly limited options.

“Are you going to tell him who they are?” Nicolo asks, the question hanging between us like smoke.

I look up, meeting his gaze. “Tell him what? That I’m harboring the daughters of the man he took everything from? That I’ve taken one of them to my bed? That I’ve made promises of protection without revealing who exactly I’m protecting her from?”

“Yes,” Nicolo says simply. “That.”