He growled and increased his pace. The world exploded, my orgasm crashing over me. He followed, his release powerful and intense.
As our hearts slowed, he pulled me into his arms.
"You showed me," he murmured.
"And what did I show you?"
"That surrender isn't destruction."
Afterward, we lay together, my head on his chest.
"There's still so much you haven't told me," I murmured against his skin.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Starting with why my uncle and Ricci want me dead."
Luca's jaw tightened. "Your father is dying."
My throatclosed. I'd known he was sick—had known for months. But—"How bad?"
"Cancer. Advanced. Weeks at most, maybe only days."
The timeline Giuseppe had hinted at in his message. The truth my father had been hiding. My legs felt weak, and I sat down heavily on the couch.
"Weeks," I repeated hollowly. "He told me months. Said he had time for treatment, that it was manageable." My voice cracked. "He lied to me about how little time we had left."
Luca crouched in front of me, his hands on my knees. "He's kept the real prognosis hidden from everyone except his inner circle—and me."
"Why wouldn't he tell me the truth?" The question broke on a sob I tried to suppress. "I'm his daughter. Didn't I deserve to know how bad it really was?"
Luca's voice was careful. "When he dies, control of the Moretti empire passes to you..."
The room tilted. I sat down heavily on the couch, the world narrowing to that single truth. My father—the man who'd controlled every aspect of my life, who'd arranged my marriage like a business merger, who'd never once asked what I wanted—was dying.
And he hadn't told me.
"How long have you known?" My voice came out hollow.
"Since before the wedding."
Understanding dawned. "So if I married Ricci's nephew..."
"The Calabrese would control everything. But your marriage to me disrupted that. And now that you're pregnant, our child becomes the uncontested heir. Your uncle loses everything."
I rose, gathering my clothes. As I buttoned my blouse, my elbow knocked papers from his desk. I froze at the letterhead: Calabrese Family Enterprises.
An ultimatum dated yesterday:Surrender Sienna Moretti and the unborn child, or face total war. Deadline: 48 hours.
"When were you going to tell me?" I asked, voice hollow.
Luca took the letter. "I wasn't."
"Because you'd already decided? Without consulting me?"
"Because there is no decision. I don't negotiate with threats."
"This isn't just about you anymore. This is about our child."
