He's quiet for a moment, and then, he asks. "How do you know it's yours?"
I snap my head so quickly, I nearly get whiplash. "Don't fuck around with me, Leo."
He holds his hands up. "It's a valid question. One your mother will ask, and you should be prepared for."
"It's mine," I say flatly. "Trust me."
His eyes are on me, and I expect him to snap another question my way. Instead, he nods, letting it go. We've been friends for long enough that he trusts me, and I trust him.
He glances at me. "Bianca sounded pleased with the news."
That's never good.
"Fantastic," I mutter.
"What's the play here?" he asks. "With your mother?"
"My mother is going to be staying out of this." My voice is harder than I intend. "She doesn't get a say in my personal life."
He snorts. "Don't be naïve, Adrian. It's not like you. You and I both know that your mother is not just going to let you 'figure this out.'" Leo continues. "An illegitimate heir is a weakness. A pregnant woman with no protection is a liability. Bianca will demand you marry her. Legitimize the child and make the baby your official heir."
He's not wrong, but I've never been one to concede, especially to Bianca. "I'm not getting married because my mother tells me to." I sound obstinate. I know I do. And yet, the idea of being forced into an arrangement by MY MOTHER hurts my ego.
"Then Bianca will take that child."
I freeze, glaring.
"I'm loyal to you, Adrian," he says. "You know I am, which is why I am telling you this. You need to go into the meeting with your eyes open."
He's not wrong.
If Sera's pregnant with my child, if that child is the Nero heir, then marriage isn't optional. It's necessary. Expected. Required.
The child is also a danger. Bianca could cut me out, raise the child as her new heir, and tell me to fuck off.
"I need you to keep an eye on Sera," I repeat. "She can't be moved yet until she stabilizes."
"I hope you know what you are doing," he tells me.
I ignore him, speeding off.
Time to face the music.
Bianca's waiting for me in her office. She's always waiting. Like she has nothing better to do than monitor every move I make.
I don't bother knocking. Just walk through the front door, through the marble entryway, up the stairs to the second floor.
Her office door is open, and she's behind the desk reading. There's a cup of tea by her. It all looks delightfully traditional, and I nearly laugh at the visual.
I can't ever recall a time when my mother was anything other than powerful and detached.
"We need to discuss what happened today," she says calmly, as I walk inside.
"Which part? The part where I killed Dimitri Morozov, or the part where I found out I'm going to be a father?"
Her expression doesn't change. "Both."
"So, Reeves told you?"
