"So I'm a prisoner. Again."
"You're protected," I corrected.
"No." Her voice went sharp. "You told me I wasn't in a cage, remember? You said there was a difference between owned and protected." She moved closer, eyes blazing. "Where's the difference now? You're making every decision about my life without asking what I want. You're locking me underground. How is this any different from the first night you forced me into your car?"
"The difference is I'm keeping you alive—"
"By treating me like property!" Her voice rose. "You promised me. Hours ago, you promised we'd face threats together. That I was your partner." She laughed bitterly. "Partners make decisions together, Luca. This is you putting me back in my cage and telling me it's for my own good."
"It is for your own good," I snapped. "You nearly died falling down a stairwell this morning. You're pregnant, vulnerable, and someone wants you dead."
"I want you to include me in decisions about my life!" She was right in my face now. "Stop making decisions for me and start making them with me. Or admit that all those pretty words about partnership were just another way to control me."
"You're my wife," I said sharply. "And you're carrying my child. That makes you the most valuable target in the city."
"Don't pretend this is about me. This is about your heir. Your bloodline. Your legacy."
I crossed to her in three strides. "That 'complication' is our child. And I will burn this city to the ground before I let anyone harm it—or you."
"By locking me away? That's not protection, Luca. That's possession."
"Call it whatever you want," I growled. "But these are the terms."
She stared at me, then turned away. "Wake me if we're about to die. Otherwise, I'd rather not watch you destroy yourself trying to control everything."
The bedroom door closed with a soft click.
Three days passed in the underground apartment. Three days of reviewing intelligence reports and watching my empire fracture while Sienna grew more restless with each passing hour.
By the third day, the consequences were becoming impossible to ignore.
My phone vibrated. Marco's voice was grim.
"Boss, they made their move. Three hits last night—coordinated attacks. Restaurant on Fifth Street firebombed, shipping warehouse destroyed, Romano's Lounge shot up."
My knuckles whitened. "Casualties?"
"Two of our guys hospitalized. Martino's stable, but Caruso's lungs took serious damage." Marco paused. "They left a note at the lounge, spray-painted on the wall: 'The prince is hiding while his kingdom falls.'"
Ice flooded my veins. They knew I'd gone underground, knew I'd made myself vulnerable by choosing her safety over visible strength.
"What else?"
"Dante's been calling. We're losing ground on the West Side—"
"Put him through."
A click, then Dante's voice, tight with anger. "Boss, we just lost the cement contracts on the West Side. All of them. Giuseppe's people showed up with new documentation, claiming breach of terms." His frustration bled through. "Three years of cultivation, gone. They're using last night's attacks as justification—saying you can't guarantee security anymore."
"How many contracts?"
"Twelve major ones. Enough to cripple our construction operations for two years. And boss—the Torrino crew is questioning whether the Romano-Moretti alliance is as strong as they thought. Giuseppe's spinning the narrative, saying the hits prove you can't protect your own territory."
I saw Sienna appear in the doorway, understanding dawning on her face.
I ended the call. The empire I'd rebuilt from prison was being systematically dismantled while I hid in a bunker.
"They're right, you know," Sienna said quietly.
