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The second the lock clicks shut, I exhale. Didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath.

The room is quiet. Too quiet.

My eyes land on the wall, but it isn’t the wall I see. It’s her. The ultrasound she hadn’t shown me. A future I might never be allowed to reach.

My fist slams into the wall. Once. Twice.

I will take back my empire. I will drag every traitor into the light. I will survive this war.

But more than anything—I will get her back. Because she’s mine. And so is our child.

I’m not walking in as Marco Bianchi, king of the underground. Not as a don. Not as a boss. But as a man chasing the woman who holds my heart—and now carries my future.

I drag a hand through my hair, breath ragged. The words come out low, cracked, like something pulled from my chest.

“I can’t let that happen. I can’t let her take me away from my child. But I need to move carefully. Tactically. Gain her trust—slowly.”

I push open the door to the garage.

No guards. No strategy. No armor.

Just instinct.

I’m already gone before anyone can stop me, the engine screaming down the private drive.

Not toward war.

But toward the woman who just declared it.

Because nothing—no betrayal, no blood, no legacy—will stop me from getting her back.

31

ARIA

Istep inside my new penthouse, a gift from Ettore. He promised no Bianchi would ever find us here. As usual, the house is empty. Chiara doesn’t like all this change and prefers to spend her time in her old hideouts, no matter how many times I beg her to be home.

My feet ache from hours in heels, and my mind is still reeling from the bombshell I dropped in Marco’s lap.

The darkness of the entryway welcomes me, but something feels off. I walk in and smell it—cedarwood.

The cologne I used to breathe in from the hollow of his throat.

My body stiffens just as my heart begins to race. How could it be? I’m not alone.

I reach for the light switch. The soft glow floods the open living area, and then I see him sitting in the leather armchair by the window.

His bow tie hangs undone around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt open to reveal the tanned skin beneath. He holds a glass of scotch, and when our eyes meet, he raises it to his lips.

“Welcome home,” Marco whispers into the night, like this is our house. Like he’s been expecting me.

I stand frozen at the threshold, my hand still on the switch, pulse thudding erratically against my wrist. “How the fuck did you find me here?”

His lips curl into that infuriating half-smile that once made my stomach flutter. Now it just makes me want to throw something at his perfect face.

“You underestimate me, Aria.” He sets down the glass and rises to approach. “I have just as many eyes and ears in this city as you do. More, actually. Did you really think Ettore Greco could hide you from me?”

I drop my clutch on the side table, fighting the urge to retreat as he advances. I will not show weakness. Not again. Not after what happened at the gala.