He'd sent it knowing I'd be desperate enough to investigate, knowing I'd walk straight into whatever trap he'd laid.
But if it was a trap, why the elaborate setup? Why not just—
The realization hit like ice water. Because he needed me to come willingly. Needed it to look like I'd chosen to betray Luca, to run back to my family. That would shatter the Romano-Moretti alliance more effectively than any assassination.
I set the phone down carefully, as if it might explode. Giuseppe knew about the pregnancy. Knew where I was. And was confident enough to call me directly, to threaten me while I stood in Luca's fortress.
If Giuseppe succeeded—if he killed me and the baby—what would happen to Isabella? She'd be alone, unprotected, with no one standing between her and our uncle's ambition. She'd become his next pawn, forced into the same life I'd been fighting to spare her from.
That thought steadied me more than fear for my own life. Whatever happened today, I needed to survive for Isabella. To keep her free.
The walls suddenly felt thinner. The security, less absolute.
I needed Luca to take this seriously. To see that waiting, hiding, wasn't working anymore.
When Luca returned that evening, exhaustion etched into every line of his face, I made a decision. I had to at least try to involve him.
"Luca, I received a message today."
He was instantly alert, fatigue falling away like a discarded mask. "What kind of message?"
I pulled up my phone, showing him the message. He read it twice, his expression growing darker with each word.
"It's a trap," he said immediately, his voice flat with certainty. "Delete this. Now."
"I know," I said quickly. "Giuseppe called right after I got this. That's when I realized—he sent it. He's trying to lure me out."
Luca's expression shifted from anger to sharp focus. "He called you?"
"Mentioned my pregnancy. Ricci. Said 'family always remembers.'" I wrapped my arms around myself. "The text was bait. The call was pressure. He's setting a trap at Terminal B."
"And you're telling me this because...?" His voice was careful, testing.
"Because I'm not stupid enough to walk into it. And because you promised—no more secrets about threats." I met his gaze steadily. "We're in this together. That means I tell you when my uncle is making moves, even if—especially if—he's using my father to manipulate me."
Something in his expression softened. "You're not going."
"I know. But you need to know what he's planning. Maybe we can use it somehow."
"No." He turned away, the gesture as final as a door slamming. "Tomorrow I'm meeting with Ricci. You stay here, under guard, until I eliminate the threat."
"Luca, please—"
"This isn't negotiable, Sienna." He didn't even look back. "You're pregnant. And you're the target they're trying to draw out."
The finality in his voice made my decision for me.
I stood staring at that closed door for a long moment, the finality of it settling over me like a shroud.
He'd made his choice. Protect me by controlling me. Keep me safe by keeping me ignorant.
And I'd just made mine.
That night, I lay awake in the bed we'd been sharing since that first night—five days ago, after the dance, after everything had shiftedbetween us. It had become routine without discussion: he'd come to bed hours after I did, exhausted from managing his crumbling empire, and I'd feel the mattress dip as he settled on his side.
We didn't talk about it. Didn't acknowledge that separate beds had become one shared space. It just... was.
Tonight, he came to bed late again, keeping to his side of the mattress as always.
