I reach out and tap the underside of her chin. “Thank you, little dove. She was the only good thing in my father's house, and when she was gone, he made sure I understood exactly what I was worth to the Milano empire.” I’m not usually so open. It feels good to share a piece of me I’ve kept guarded for a very long time.
I work my thumb along the sole of her foot, pressing into the tension gathered there. "I know what it is like to be used for the family business, little dove. To be traded and bartered and sold to the highest bidder. I am not so different from you.”
The confession costs me something I cannot name. I do not talk about my mother. I do not talk about my father or my brother or the childhood that taught me softness was a weakness that would get me killed.
But Persia looks at me with those aqua eyes full of something that might be understanding, and the words keep coming like blood from a wound I forgot I had.
“My mother spent the first twelve years of my life teaching me that the world was not out to kill me. She taught me to care for those around me and those under me. She thought if one person could have kindness in their heart for another then from there it was only a matter of time before it spread. She used to love totalk about ripple effects. Frankly, I have no fucking idea how or why she fell in love with my father.
“Most likely, she didn’t.”
Persia’s tone is soft and sad.
When I draw my gaze to her, her emotions sit in the depths of her eyes and pull her lips into a deep frown. “Daughters are pawns and if she grew up with a father like mine, then she was used to make a deal with. It’s what daughters are used for in our world.”
“She was,” I confirm. “She was indeed.”
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, shattering the moment. I glance at the screen and see Massimo's name. He’s probably calling to discuss the cleanup from today's disaster.
Persia tries to pull her foot back. “I see you have more work. Let me get out of the way.”
I catch her ankle and hold her in place. “You are never in the way.”
With my free hand, I reach for the phone and power it off completely, setting it face-down on the table with a finality that surprises even me. Massimo can wait. The empire can wait. For once in my miserable life, something else matters more.
“Then why are you never here?” The question bursts out of her like it has been building pressure for days. “I go to sleep wondering what the hell I'm doing here, and I wake up thinking the same thing. You hold me every night but you won't touch me. You call me your wife but you won't tell me what I owe you. And the last time I checked we are, in fact, not married. I'm living in limbo, Rafael, and I can't do it anymore."
The rawness in her voice cuts through every defense I have built over the past two weeks. She deserves answers. She has deserved them since the moment I carried her out of that church and brought her into my world.
I set her feet aside and stand, offering her my hand. “Come with me.”
Hope replaces all the anger simmering just under the surface. It shines in her eyes in a way that takes me by the balls and squeezes.
Too bad I have to crush it with the truth.
She hesitates for only a moment before placing her palm in mine, and I lead her down the hallway to my office. The room is dark except for the ambient glow of the city through the windows, and I do not bother turning on the lights as I guide her to the chair in front of my desk.
I move to the safe hidden behind a panel of the bookshelf and retrieve the silk she tore from her dress three weeks ago, her desperate wish written in red lip liner and preserved like the sacred thing it is. I have kept it close since the night I found it, reading her words over and over until I had them memorized.
I set it on the desk between us.
She picks it up with trembling fingers, recognition dawning in her eyes as she traces the faded words. “My wish.”
“Your wish.” I settle into the chair across from her and let the weight of what I am about to say settle into my bones. “You asked what you owe me. This is where we discuss the price.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “I never run when I give my word. Tell me.”
“I need an heir." The words come out flat, clinical, nothing like the chaos raging inside my chest. "I need a mother for my child. I need a woman at my side who can navigate this world without flinching. I need someone who understands what it means to be used by their family and survived it anyway.” I hold her gaze, refusing to look away from the impact of my words. “I need you, Persia.”
The weight of my words settles over her and not for the first time tonight I wish I was anyone else but the bastard that I am.
Her jaw drops open, and for a long moment she just stares at me like I have grown a second head. "You want what?"
Red flushes into her cheeks. The tip of her tongue slips across her bottom lip.
“You heard me.”
“An heir. You want me to have your baby.” She shakes her head slowly, disbelief etched into every line of her face. “That was never part of any wish and never part of anything that was ever told to me about the Red Letter Syndicate. You grant wishes for a cost. Money, favors. V-cards. Not babies. A child is not a payment.”
