Angelo checked his watch, but said nothing. The silence stretched, oppressive and suffocating.
More minutes crawled by. Five. Ten. Twenty. Each one heavier than the last.
I couldn't take it anymore. "How long does phase two usually take?"
"Every operation is different, ma'am."
Non-answer. Everything was a non-answer.
I sank onto the couch, wrapping my arms around myself. My phone sat on the coffee table, silent. Mocking.
The waiting was unbearable. Not knowing if Luca was alive or hurt or fighting for his life.
But even terrified, even powerless, I wouldn't take it back.
Because somewhere between hating Luca Romano and sitting here wearing his mother's ring, I'd fallen completely in love with him.
Not because he was powerful or dangerous or strategic, but because underneath all that cold calculation was a man who'd knelt before me and promised to protect our child.
What if Luca didn't come back? What if Giuseppe won? Isabella would have no one. She'd become exactly what I'd tried to prevent—another pawn in the family game, married off, controlled, her choices stolen.
I'd promised her. Promised she'd be different. That she'd get to choose her own path.
And I was failing her.
My hand moved to my stomach, where our child grew—invisible but undeniable. This baby would be born into violence and power, would carry the weight of two criminal empires before taking their first breath.
But they'd also be born into love. That much, at least, I could give them.
"Mrs. Romano?" Angelo's voice was gentle. "You should try to rest. It could be a while longer."
"I can't rest. Not until I know he's safe."
Angelo nodded, understanding. He'd lived through this himself—the agonizing wait while someone you loved walked into danger.
So I waited. And waited. And prayed to a God I wasn't sure was listening that Luca Romano would come back to me.
Because I'd finally found something worth fighting for.
And I refused to lose it now.
CHAPTER 17
Luca
Midnight.
The docks were silent except for the lap of water against pylons and the distant groan of cargo ships. I stood in the shadows of Warehouse 12, Marco on my left, three of my best soldiers positioned on the catwalks above.
My phone buzzed. Dante:Giuseppe's convoy just arrived at Queens. Eight men. He's with them.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Giuseppe thought he was about to claim his prize—Sienna, vulnerable and lightly guarded. Instead, he was walking into a kill box with a dozen of my men surrounding the building.
"Ricci's people?" I asked Marco quietly.
He checked his tablet, monitoring the surveillance feeds. "Three vehicles. Twelve men total. They're parking two blocks north, approaching on foot."
Cautious. Smart. But not smart enough.
