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“You’ll break your damn hand if you keep that up,” Marco says from the doorway.

I glance at him, sweat dripping into my eyes. “What do you want?”

He steps into the room, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “You’re distracted.”

“Your insight astounds me,” I retort, turning back to the bag.

Marco sighs, crossing his arms. “It’s the kid, isn’t it? You’re thinking about what it means.”

I don’t respond.

“It’s not going to change anything, Luca. This life—our life—it doesn’t stop for a family. You know that.”

His words are a punch to the gut, not because they’re wrong, but because they’re right. I keep hitting the bag until my knuckles scream, until Marco finally leaves me to my misery.

By the third day, the tension becomes unbearable. I pace my office, the map of our territories spread out before me like a battlefield. Every line, every marker, is a reminder of the violence that has built this empire.

A knock at the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.

“Enter.”

Dante steps in, his expression grave. “We’ve confirmed the faction is backed by the Rossi family. They’re trying to gain a foothold in the northern territories.”

I nod, though my stomach churns at the confirmation. The Rossis have been a thorn in my side for years, their ambitions always pushing them into reckless territory.

“Double the men on the warehouses,” I order. “And send a message to their inner circle—something subtle. Let them know we’re watching.”

Dante hesitates, then nods. “Understood.”

When he leaves, the silence in the room is deafening. I sink into the chair behind my desk, my hands threading through my hair. The empire is safe for now, but the gnawing question remains: how do I protect a family in a world that thrives on destruction?

That evening, I stand on the balcony outside my bedroom, the cool night air a brief reprieve. My mind is restless, caught between the empire I’ve built and the family I’m trying to imagine.

Behind me, the door creaks open. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Valentina.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks softly.

I glance at her, taking in the way the moonlight caresses her features. “The future,” I admit.

She comes up beside me, and moves my arms, positioning herself between me and the railings. Then, she looks deep into my eyes. “And?”

I pull her into my arms and lead her to the bed, because words won’t do. Because for once, I don’t have the answers, and that terrifies me more than anything.

She’s spread out before me, her skin flushed, her chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

My hands grip her thighs, parting them slowly, deliberately, as if unwrapping the most exquisite gift.

I can feel her anticipation in the way she trembles under my touch, the way her hips lift ever so slightly, silently pleading.

I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another a little higher, trailing soft, teasing touches along her skin. Her fingers twist into the sheets, her body taut with need, but I’m not rushing this. I want to take my time, savoring every reaction, every sound that escapes her lips.

When my mouth finally grazes her, she gasps, her back arching off the bed as if the touch alone is too much. I chuckle softly, letting the sound vibrate against her. She’s already dripping, her heat intoxicating, and I know I could lose myself here—happily.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmur against her, my voice thick with awe and desire. Her soft whimper in response drives me forward. My tongue traces her, slow and deliberate, tasting her, learning every sensitive spot as she writhes beneath me.

I flatten my tongue, dragging it over her in one long, slow stroke before circling the bundle of nerves that has her hips bucking.

My hands tighten on her thighs, holding her steady, grounding her as I work over her.

Her voice breaks into a desperate moan, her hands flying to my hair, fingers tangling as she tries to pull me closer.

“Patience,” I growl, the word muffled against her slick heat. She lets out a frustrated whimper, her body straining against my hold, but I don’t let up. If she wants release, she’ll have to take it my way—completely and thoroughly.

My lips wrap around her, sucking gently before my tongue flicks and presses in a rhythm that has her thighs trembling. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her breath hitching with every pass. I can feel her tightening, her body coiling as she climbs higher, closer to the edge.

“Let go for me,” I say, my voice dark, coaxing, before I push her further with a deeper, firmer stroke of my tongue.

Her body jolts, a sharp cry escaping her lips as she shatters beneath me.

I hold her down, my mouth never leaving her, drawing out every spasm, every delicious tremor as she moans and writhes, completely lost.

Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her nails digging in as she tries to catch her breath, but I’m not done yet.

My tongue softens, my kisses gentler now, trailing over her as her body slowly relaxes.

When I finally pull away, I rise over her, meeting her gaze, and the raw, breathless expression on her face is enough to make me throb with need.

“Valentina,” I murmur her name, leaning down to capture her lips. Her taste lingers between us, and as I press her back into the bed, I know I’m not stopping until I’ve had all of her, again and again.