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“Get out,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos inside me. “Or I’ll call security.”

He laughs. “The security that’s currently enjoying an unexpected night off? I wouldn’t bother.”

Of course. Marco never leaves anything to chance. He’s planned this confrontation down to the last detail, just like he plans everything else in his meticulously controlled life.

“What do you want?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

His green eyes harden, all traces of amusement vanishing. “You can’t possibly be foolish enough to think you can keep my child from me.”

The words land like physical blows. There it is—the reason for this midnight intrusion. Not me. Not us. The baby.

“Watch me,” I counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “I meant what I said, Marco. I won’t raise our child in the shadow of your father’s crimes.”

He takes another step closer, and I find myself backing up until I hit the wall.

“Our child,” he says, emphasizing the word with quiet intensity. “It’s mine and yours. Bianchi and DeLuca blood. You can hate me all you want, you can wage whatever war you think you’re fighting, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have a right to my own child.”

“Right?” I scorn. “What right did your father think my parents had when he ordered their execution? What right did I have to know the truth about my own family while you kept me in the dark?”

A vein flickers on his forehead. “I’ve told you a thousand times—I didn’t know who you were when I proposed the marriage. And when I found out, I was trying to protect you. Both of you.” He gestures around like Chiara might be somewhere. “My father would kill you without hesitation if he knew who you really were. Is that what you want for our child? To be caught in the crossfire of your vendetta?”

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me,” I spit, my fists clenching at my sides. “You lied to me, Marco.”

“And you’ve been planning to destroy me for weeks,” he counters, closing the final distance between us. His hands plant on the wall on either side of my head, caging me in with his body. “Tell me, Aria. Did you know about the baby when you ordered the attack on my warehouse? When you stole my weapons? When you declared war? If I’d been there, were you willing to leave your child fatherless? If I died?”

I swallow hard, refusing to look away from his burning gaze. “No. I only found out three days ago.”

Something shifts in his expression—relief, perhaps, or vindication. “Would it have stopped you if you had known?”

The question lingers between us, unanswered because I honestly don’t know. Would knowing I carried his child havestayed my hand? Would maternal instinct have outweighed my thirst for justice?

“It doesn’t matter,” I say finally. “What’s done is done. You can’t erase what your family did to mine.”

“And you can’t erase this,” he says, one hand moving from the wall to hover over my abdomen, not quite touching. “You can’t erase me from our child’s life, Aria. I won’t let you.”

He stands too close, and suddenly my thoughts scatter like ash on the wind. The air shifts with the weight of him—warm, charged, saturated with a scent I’ve tried to forget but never could.

That dangerous heat between us flares to life, reckless and immediate, drawing me in before I can resist.

My body reacts first, always. It remembers him without permission—the way he touched, the way he took, the way he made surrender feel like power.

I despise how easy it is for him to undo me.

“You don’t get to dictate terms to me,” I say, but the words lack the venom I intended.

“Don’t I?” His voice drops lower, eyes darkening as they flick to my lips. “Your body responds to me even when your mind rebels. I felt it at the gala. I feel it now. You still want me, Aria. You may hate me,” he murmurs, “but I know you want me.”

The words land with a heat that crawls up my spine.

But I don’t melt.

I burn.

My palm connects with his face before I even realize I’ve moved. His head jerks to the side.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap, chest heaving. “Yes, I wanted you once. I wanted your voice in my ear, your hands on my skin, your fucking lies to be true.”

His breath shallows as he meets my gaze.