I process that, swallowing heavily. "You think she ordered the hit?"
"I know she did. The night he died, Luc was sick. Bianca stayed home with him. Perfect alibi. And Gemma and I were out with my father." He laughs bitterly. "We were getting ice cream. He was actually being... nice. And then one man walked up and shot him."
I remember what Gemma told me. The ice cream shop. The shoelaces. The trauma.
"I watched my father die," Adrian continues. "And all I could think was that Bianca did this. She orchestrated it. She made sure we'd be there to see it. To understand what happens to men who hurt women in this family."
"But you said Gemma saw?—"
"Gemma saw her father die. I saw a man who beat my mother die." His voice hardens. "I wasn't sad. I was scared for Gemma. For Luc. For what this meant. But I wasn't sad."
I don't know what to say. Don't know how to process this. That Bianca might have orchestrated her husband's murder. That Adrian witnessed it as a child. That he grew up watching violence every day.
It's no wonder he doesn't know how to love properly. No one ever showed him.
"I hate them both," he says quietly. "My father for what he did. My mother for letting me watch. For using his death to consolidate power. For turning me into..." He trails off.
"Into what?"
"Into someone just like him."
"You're not like him," I say immediately, and I mean it.
"Aren't I? I forced you to marry me. I control every aspect of your life. I use violence to solve my problems." His eyes are bleak. "How am I different?"
"You've never hit me." I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. "You've never raised your hand to me. Not once. Hell, you never even threatened it. Even when I've pushed you. Even when I've defied you. You've never physically hurt me." I leave out the emotional stuff, and from the way his eyes flash, I know he noticed.
"I've wanted to."
I swallow.
"Not in anger," he clarifies. "But to keep you safe. I've thought about chaining you to the fucking bed so I could keep an eye on you."
Adrian—and hell, maybe everyone else—might not see how big a deal it is that he refrained, but I do.
"But you didn't. That's the difference." I lean my forehead against his. "Your father made you watch because he wanted you to be like him. But you're not. You're protective, yes. Possessive, absolutely. And you can be cruel, but you'renot sadistic. You'd never force our son to watch as you beat me."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because if I thought you'd do that, I would have run, and despite what you think—" I place his hand back on my stomach. "—you're going to be a good father, Adrian. A good husband. Even when I don't agree with your methods."
"I'm going to fuck up. A lot."
"Probably. But you'll try. That's more than your father ever did." I kiss him softly. "And our son needs you. Needs your strength. Needs your protection. But he also needs softness. Needs to know it's okay to be vulnerable. Needs to see that love isn't just control."
"I don't know how to be soft."
"You're being soft right now. Staying home. Lying in bed with me. Planning for our baby." I smile. "You're softer than you think."
He pulls me closer, and I feel him relax slightly against me.
"I'm terrified," I admit. Maybe I need to show Adrian an example of vulnerability. "That I won't be able to prepare him for this life. That I'm too soft. Too weak. That I'll fail him in a different way than Bianca failed you."
"You won't." He's so sure.
"How do you know?"
"Because you're the strongest person I know." His hand cradles my face. "You survived me. Survived this world. You're still here. Still fighting. Still choosing us." He kisses me, deep and slow. "Our son is lucky. He's going to have a mother who loves him fiercely. Who will protect him. Who will teach him that strength isn't just about violence."
