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She stiffens, spine straightening, chin lifting in defiance as she steps back.

I freeze mid-motion, fingers suspended in the space between us—a space that suddenly feels as wide and unreachable as an ocean.

She opens her mouth, then shuts it again. Hesitates. That pause cuts deeper than I expect.

“Because you would’ve used it to own me,” she says.

My jaw clenches hard enough to ache. My hands curl into fists before I can stop them. Not out of anger. Not this time.

I take a step closer—not to intimidate her. To understand.

“Do you really think that’s what I would’ve done?”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any accusation.

My breath stumbles. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt… off-balance. The first time she’s seen me without the armor.

In this moment, I would give everything I own, everyone I know, every drop of blood in my veins to bridge that gap. To show her how wrong she is.

An heir to two warring dynasties. Bianchi and DeLuca blood mingling in innocent veins.

My father’s grandchild. The thought sends ice water through my system as the implications cascade through my mind.

My father, who ordered the execution of this child’s maternal grandparents.

My father, who would kill Aria without hesitation if he knew who she truly was.

The threat to them both coalesces into something solid and terrible in my chest.

I open my mouth—to explain, to beg, I don’t even know?—

“Boss!”

The voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

Nicolo’s face appears at my side, pinched with urgency.

“We need to go. We’ve been hit.” His voice is low, urgent.

I shake my head, unable to look away from her. There’s still a battlefield of words between us, truths buried beneath rage and silence. But one thing burns through all of it—I would die for her. For both of them. War or not. Hate or not. Nothing will touch what’s mine. Not while I still draw breath.

Nicolo lowers his voice, glances at Aria, then leans in to speak close to my ear.

“Marco, listen to me. We’ve been hacked. Someone’s draining our offshore account in the Bahamas clean as we speak. Please, we must go—now.”

His eyes flicker to Aria, who takes a step back.

The message is clear—she’s claiming our child as hers alone.

“We’ll finish this later,” I tell her, voice like steel.

The distance between us expands as Nicolo tries to pull me away. I resist, feet planted, eyes locked on her but she turns and walks away.

I let Nicolo walk me back, my eyes still on her retreating form, but then she gives me one last glance over her shoulder. For one moment—a heartbeat, a breath—Aria’s mask slips and Isee something like sorrow, which she quickly buries by looking away.

Nicolo nearly drags me toward the exit, telling me we’re losing hundreds of thousands in this breach. But I am barely listening. My mind remains with Aria, her words still pounding in my head.

She’s carrying my child. The war between us has just become infinitely more complicated, the stakes raised beyond measure.