But as I looked into his eyes, I saw the shadows lurking beneath the surface—the weight of his world, the dangers that surrounded us. I thought of the secret growing inside me—our child—and felt a fierce protectiveness rise in my chest. Whatever came next, whatever dangers we faced, we would face them together. The three of us.
The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: I was no longer just Antonio’s leftovers. I was Vittorio’s, and he was mine. And in this world of shadows and secrets, that was enough—for now.
CHAPTER 11
Vittorio
Istood at the window of my study, watching the first light of dawn break over the estate grounds. The sky bled from black to purple to a soft orange, but the beauty was lost on me. My mind was elsewhere—with the woman sleeping upstairs and the ghosts that wouldn't leave me alone.
Livia's face appeared in my mind, unbidden. The woman I had loved years ago. Beautiful, headstrong, determined. The similarities to Sophie were striking, and that terrified me more than I cared to admit.
I closed my eyes, the memories flooding back with brutal clarity. The explosion that tore through my previous estate. The flames that reached toward the sky. The knowledge that Livia was inside, despite my explicit instructions to stay at the safe house. She'd come back for something—a necklace, a memento, something trivial—and paidwith her life.
I'd found her body myself, broken and burned beyond recognition. Only her ring had identified her.
My hands tightened around the tumbler of whiskey I'd been nursing for the past hour. I hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep. Not after what had happened with Sophie.
When I'd burst into that warehouse and seen her tied to that chair, blood trickling from her split lip, her eye swollen shut—something inside me had broken loose. Something primal and violent and terrifying in its intensity. I'd killed before, countless times, but never with such raw, unfiltered rage.
"You're getting soft," I muttered to myself, draining the last of the whiskey.
But this felt different from what I'd felt for Livia. With Livia, I'd carried guilt—guilt that I couldn't protect her, guilt that my lifestyle had put her in danger. With Sophie, there was guilt too, but something else entirely. Something that clawed at my chest and made it difficult to breathe when I thought about how close I'd come to losing her.
I'd left her sleeping in my bed an hour ago, unable to face what had happened between us. The way she'd clung to me, desperate and needy. The way I'd responded, equally desperate, equally needy. The way we'd torn at each other's clothes, seeking reassurance in the most primal way possible that we were both alive, both whole.
I wasn't supposed to care this much. She was supposed to be a pawn, a means to an end. A way to get to Antonio. Not this—not someone who made my chest ache with a mixture of desire and fear.
My phone vibrated on the desk, pulling me from my thoughts. Enzo's name flashed on the screen.
"What is it?" I answered, my voice rough from lack of sleep.
"Package just arrived at the gate. Courier dropped it and left immediately."
My blood ran cold. "Scan it."
"Already did. It's clean. No explosives, no biological agents. Just a phone and some papers."
"Bring it to my study."
Five minutes later, Enzo placed a small package on my desk. I cut the tape with a letter opener and emptied the contents onto the polished mahogany surface. A burner phone and a manila envelope.
The phone showed one message and one voicemail. I opened the message first.
Listen to the voicemail, then open the envelope. We need to talk, brother.
Antonio. Of course.
I pressed play on the voicemail and held the phone to my ear. My brother's voice, cold and calculating, filled the silence.
"Jonah told me everything, how far you'd fallen before Falco killed the little traitor. My surveillance did the rest. Father would be ashamed, Vittorio. You're destroying three generations of Ricci honor for a thief who corrupts our bloodline. I won't let you dishonor everything we built."
I frowned. What did he mean by "everything"? Jonah was a traitor, yes, but what could he possibly have told Antonio that would matter now?
With a growing sense of dread, I opened the envelope. Photographs spilled out—surveillance shots taken during the rescue operation. Sophie being carried from the warehouse, blood on her face. Me, my expression raw with an emotion I rarely allowed myself to show—fear. Fear of losing her.
The last photo made my blood run cold. It was Sophie in the medical suite, Dr. Rossi standing beside her bed, holding what appeared to be a medical chart. The photo quality was grainy, taken fromoutside through a window—evidence of Antonio's reach extending even to medical staff who could be bought. Text was highlighted in red marker:
Pregnancy: 6-8 weeks
