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The admission steals my breath.

"We're almost there," I remind him. "The throne is within reach now more than ever."

"Yes," he agrees, pressing his lips to my forehead. "And when we claim it, we will turn away no one who helps us to find justice. For your father, for your family name. A legacy of our own making.Nothingwill ever stand in the way of that."

"Nothing," I agree, pressing my lips to the scar where his finger once was. "Nothing."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dante

London greets us with gray skies, rain-slicked streets and glass towers reaching toward a heaven they'll never touch.

Our return feels like stepping into heavy steel armor after weeks of Italian warmth and countryside. The penthouse still smells of power and privilege, but now carries a different weight.

Home.

Not just my fortress anymore, butours. Francesca has claimed these spaces as thoroughly as I've claimed her body and soul.

I stand before the wall of monitors in my private office, watching footage of my brother's movements from the past three weeks. Luca, moving between the family mansion and private doctors' offices. Luca, brooding and dark-eyed in board meetings. Luca, with his hand perpetually at Bianca's back, a protective shadow of his pregnant wife.

"The latest medical report," Marco says, sliding a folder across my desk. "Obtained from Dr. Henderson's office this morning."

I flip it open, scanning the contents. Medical terminology fills the pages, but certain phrases leap out like bullets.

Placental insufficiency. Pre-eclampsia concerns. Significant risk to mother and child if carried to term.

"So, Bianca won't make it to the due date," I observe, closing the file. "They'll deliver early."

Marco nods. "Intelligence suggests within the next two weeks. The pregnancy is high-risk now. Luca has canceled multiple meetings, delegated critical operations to subordinates."

I drum my fingers against the dark wood of my desk, considering the issues this brings up. My brother, distracted by personal concerns. The Ravelli empire temporarily weakened by its leader's divided attention.

The perfect moment to strike has finally arrived.

"And the Volkovs?" I ask, reaching for the next report.

"Still searching for Nico," Marco replies. "They've offered a substantial reward for information on his whereabouts. Several of their top enforcers have been spotted in Brussels, following a false lead our team planted."

A smile curves my lips. "Good. Keep them chasing ghosts. I want them far from London when we make our move."

Francesca enters without knocking, a privilege she alone possesses. She's wearing a black dress that hugs her curves, her dark hair pulled back in a severe style that emphasizes the sharpness of her cheekbones.

Queen returning to her domain.

"Antonio is settled in the east wing suite," she reports, crossing to stand beside me. Her eyes catch on Bianca's medical file, understanding crystallizing in her golden gaze. "So it's true."

"Complications with the pregnancy," I confirm, watching her face. "Potentially life-threatening. For both mother and baby."

A shadow crosses her features. Despite everything, she carries a woman's empathy for another in such a vulnerable position.

For a moment, I let myself imagine a different path.

One where I stand beside my brother as his child enters the world. Where I become the protective uncle, teaching my niece or nephew the secrets of our empire.

But that fantasy crumbles like ash in my mouth.

"If that child is born while Luca sits on the throne, everything changes," I say, my voice hard. "The succession becomes ironclad. Any challenge I mount afterward would be seen as an attack on an innocent child, not just my brother."