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The image is seductive, but also frightening in its intensity.

"Our world is too dangerous right now," I argue. "Look at what just happened. The Volkovs, Nico's betrayal, the constant threats from all sides..." I pause, the weight of reality tempering the momentary fantasy. "I wouldn't want to bring a child into this chaos. That's not fair on an innocent life."

She lifts her head to study my face, her expression somewhere between amusement and tenderness. "Listen to you. Dante Ravelli, concerned about a hypothetical child's wellbeing. You've gone soft."

I growl at that, my hand tightening possessively on her hip. "I'm many things, princess, but 'soft' has never been among them. As I'll gladly demonstrate when these stitches come out."

Her laugh vibrates against my chest. "Promise?"

Before I can respond, a tentative knock at the door interrupts us. Francesca calls out permission to enter, already shifting to a more proper position beside me.

Antonio appears in the doorway, his face still bearing the marks of his ordeal but significantly improved from the barely conscious man we extracted from the Volkov dungeon. He leans heavily on a cane, but manages to stand upright.

"Sorry to interrupt," he says, his good eye taking in our positions on the bed. "We heard voices and Maria insisted I bring you both some broth. She says it's 'healing.'"

Francesca rises to take the tray from him, helping him to the chair she vacated. "You should be resting too."

"I've been in that bed for three days," he replies with a grimace. "I needed to move before I lost my mind."

I study Antonio Castellano, this man who was tortured nearly to death because of his connection to my wife and my brother.

Despite his injuries, I see the same fierce intelligence that distinguishes Francesca. The Castellano trait that makes them both dangerous and valuable allies plain for all to see.

"You're looking better," I observe, accepting the bowl of broth Francesca passes to me.

"Better than you," Antonio retorts with surprising spirit. "Though neither of us will win beauty contests anytime soon."

His gaze shifts to his sister, then back to me. "I owe you my life, Ravelli. I won't forget it."

The acknowledgment comes out almost… begrudgingly. But sincerely, too.

I incline my head, accepting the debt without comment.

"What were they after?" I ask instead, cutting to the heart of matters. "Beyond using you as bait for Nico?"

Antonio's expression darkens. "Information. About Nico's operation. About the routes he's built, the connections he's made." He shifts in the chair, wincing at the movement. "They wanted every detail, and they were... thorough in their methods."

Francesca's hand finds mine on the bedcovers, squeezing gently. I know she's imagining the torture her brother endured, the pain inflicted to extract information.

"Tell me about Nico's approach to you," I press, needing to understand the full scope of my youngest brother's betrayal. "When did it start?"

Antonio sighs, the sound weighted with pain both physical and remembered. "Four months ago."

I look to Francesca. She nods as if she's reading my mind.

Four months ago Vito was killed. The timing of his approach is no coincidence.

"He came to my office in London," Antonio continues. "Very official, very proper. Presented a business proposal for exclusive shipping routes through Castellano maritime holdings."

"And you refused," Francesca states, knowing her brother's loyalty to their father's organization.

"I did." Antonio's jaw tightens. "But not before I saw enough of his operation to understand what he was building. It was... impressive, if not darkly criminal. He'd figured out how to siphon product from both Ravelli and Volkov shipments, creating his own supply chain using your infrastructure."

Pride and anger war within me at this description. The strategic mind it would take to build such an operation right under our noses... it's the kind of bold move I might have made in his position.

My half-brother, the quiet one, the bookish one, playing us all.

"Did he tell you why?" I ask, leaning forward despite the pain in my shoulder. "Why risk everything? Why betray both families?"