Page 55

Vladimir's report is detailed as always. Luca has been photographed leaving a private clinic in London. Beside him is Bianca, but not as you would usually expect her.

Her face is more pale, one hand protectively cradling her swollen belly. And I know that this medical visit wasn't planned…

Something's wrong with the pregnancy.

The thought hits me hard. I should feel satisfied. My brother's distraction is my advantage. His weakness is my strength.

Instead, I find myself staring at Bianca's strained expression, the evident concern on Luca's face as he shields her from photographers. The way his hand covers hers over their unborn child.

I delete the images more forcefully than necessary.

Marco has sent additional intelligence—territorial reports, alliance updates, confirmation from the Volkovs who say theyarefully aligned with my cause after our extraction of Castellano merchandise.

Everything is proceeding exactly as planned, despite my caution over the Volkovs true motivation.

The throne is within reach. My ambitions are crystallizing into reality.

I glance back at Francesca, still lost in her dreams. Last night, watching her take control, seeing her confident in her power over me... it awakened possibilities I've never considered.

She holds a different kind of strength. One I've never known. A different kind of legacy and desire.

No.

I push the thought away, anger flashing hot in my veins. This is exactly what my father warned against. Distraction. Weakness.Sentiment.

I dress quietly, slipping from the room before such dangerous thoughts can take deeper root.

By the time Francesca finds me, I've spent hours in the study, reviewing contracts, issuing commands, structuring the next phase of my ascension.

She appears in the doorway wearing a simple sundress, hair loose around her shoulders, feet bare against the terracotta tiles. Something twists in my chest at the sight of her, domestic and relaxed in this space that holds my earliest memories.

"Good morning," she says, studying my expression with those perceptive golden eyes. "You left early this morning."

"Business," I reply, deliberately cooling my tone.

Distance is necessary after last night's intimacy. Self-preservation dictates walls must be rebuilt.

She crosses the room despite my evident dismissal, perching on the edge of my desk. "Doing anything interesting?"

I hesitate, weighing how much to share. "Luca is distracted. There appears to be... complications with Bianca's pregnancy."

Her expression softens with genuine concern. "Shit… Is she alright?"

"They were photographed leaving a medical clinic. She doesn't look well." I close the laptop, irritated by her sympathy for people she's never even properly met. "It's an opportunity we can exploit."

Francesca's eyes narrow slightly. "They're your family, Dante. Your niece or nephew—"

"They're obstacles," I cut her off sharply. "Nothing more."

She studies me for a long moment, disappointment flooding her face. "If you say so."

The silence between us grows weighted. I can almost see her mentally retreating, rebuilding her own walls in response to mine.

Oddly, I find myself unwilling to let the morning continue this way.

"I thought we might go out today," I say, surprising us both. "There are ancient Roman ruins nearby. Worth seeing, if you're interested."

Her expression immediately brightens. "I'd love that. I wrote part of my dissertation on Roman architectural influences in renaissance banking structures."