"I never expected to have this," he admitted quietly.
"A child?"
"A family." His jaw worked, and I saw him struggling with how much to reveal. "When I went to prison, I was twenty-three. I thought I'd die there—either killed by enemies who'd bribed the guards, or broken by the system. Two years felt like twenty. By the time I got out, I'd convinced myself that part of life was over. That men like me don't get families. We get empires built on blood, loyalty bought with fear, and early graves."
His thumb traced a small circle on my stomach. "My father had a family. It didn't make him better—it made him more ruthless. He used us as leverage, as proof of his virility, as heirs to continue his legacy. Love was a weakness he couldn't afford. So he taught us not to want it."
"But you did want it," I said softly. "Or you wouldn't sound so lost right now."
"Maybe." His voice roughened. "Or maybe I just never let myself think about it. In prison, wanting things you can't have destroys you. So I stopped wanting. Stopped imagining a future beyond survival and revenge. And then you—" He stopped, shaking his head.
"Then I what?"
"Then you made me want again. Made me imagine something beyond the empire, beyond the violence. Made me think maybe I could have this—a wife who challenges me, a child we created, a life that's more than just strategy and bloodshed." His eyes met mine, raw and honest. "It terrifies me. Because wanting this means I have something to lose."
"I will keep you safe," he whispered, slowly sinking to his knees, pressing his forehead against my abdomen. "Both of you."
The sight of him—this powerful, dangerous man on his knees before me—undid something inside my chest. My fingers moved of their own accord, threading through his dark hair.
Without thinking, I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his.
When he kissed me this time, it wasn't about dominance or possession. His mouth was gentle, almost reverent, as if I were something precious he was afraid to break.
He rose to his feet, gathering me in his arms, and carried me through the hidden corridors back to our bedroom, where the outside world ceased to exist.
He laid me down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on my waist as if to ensure I was real, tangible. His eyes never left mine, a raw intensity burning in their icy blue depths.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
I was trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer force of what was happening between us, so different from that first night together.
"I've never wanted anyone like this," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.
His hand slid down my side, his touch both gentle and demanding, as if he were mapping the contours of my body for the first time. He kissed me deeply, his lips parting mine with a hunger that mirrored my own.
His kisses were a language I had never spoken before, a dialect of need and longing that left me breathless. His hands moved with purpose, unbuttoning my dress slowly, each movement deliberate. The fabric fell away, leaving me exposed to his gaze.
"Bella," he whispered, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of my bare skin.
The word was a caress, a promise, a declaration. His lips trailed down my neck, his breath hot against my sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine. His mouth moved lower, kissing the swell of my breasts, his tongue teasing until I gasped.
"Luca," I moaned, my voice pleading as his hands slid down, cupping my hips, guiding me closer to him.
His fingers traced the lace of my panties before slipping beneath the fabric, finding the wet heat between my thighs.
"You're so ready for me," he murmured against my skin, his fingers slipping inside me, stroking with a rhythm that had me biting my lip.
I bucked against his hand, my body desperate for more. He rose above me, his eyes locked on mine.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice a rough command.
"You," I breathed, my hands moving to his belt. "I want you inside me, now."
He positioned himself at my entrance, his eyes searching mine for permission.
"Yes," I whispered, my body aching for him.
He thrust into me, slow and deep, filling me completely. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, his rhythm steady, relentless. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing over me, building to a crescendo I could no longer hold back.
