The first time the Mafia boss’s baby reached for me, I thought he wanted the silver necklace around my throat. The second time, I realized he wanted me—and by the third, his father had stopped looking irritated and started looking genuinely afraid.

Dawn brought no peace. It brought the cold, gray light of reality.

I woke with Luca’s heavy arm draped possessively over my waist, his face buried in the curve of my neck, his breathing slow and deep. For ten glorious minutes, I allowed myself to believe that the world was simple. That we were just a man and a woman who had found each other in the dark.

Then the intercom on the nightstand buzzed with an urgent, shrill tone.

Luca was awake instantly. In less than a second, the sleepy vulnerability vanished, replaced by the lethal commander. He snatched the receiver before the second ring could sound and disturb Leo in the adjoining room.

“Speak,” he growled.

“Boss,” Dante’s voice crackled through the speaker, tight with tension. “We have a breach. Not physical. Cyber. The security grid on the western perimeter was compromised forty minutes ago from an internal IP address.”

Luca sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, revealing the muscular expanse of his scarred back. “Which internal address?”

“The guest terminal in the second-floor nursery wing,” Dante replied, his words dropping like poison into the quiet room. “The device assigned to Miss Whitmore.”

The blood drained from my face. I shot upright, clutching the sheet to my chest, staring at the phone in horror. “What? That’s impossible!”

Luca slowly lowered the receiver. He turned his head to look at me.

The warmth of the night before was completely gone. In its place was a chilling, arctic void. His eyes were flat, dead, and calculating. He didn't yell. He didn't accuse. He simply looked at me as if he were trying to determine the most efficient way to dismantle a traitor.

“Luca, I didn't touch any terminal,” I pleaded, my voice cracking with panic. “I was with you! All night. You know I was with you!”

“The log shows an automated script uploaded at 4:12 a.m.,” Luca said quietly, his voice dangerously level. “A script that opens the western service gate for a ten-minute window tonight at midnight. The exact time Julian Romano’s transport is scheduled to pass through our sector.”

“I don't even know what an automated script is!” I cried, scrambling out of the bed, tangling myself in my clothes with frantic, shaking hands. “You have to believe me! I would never—I could never put Leo in danger!”

The heavy oak door to the study opened, and Dante stepped in, his expression grim. Behind him stood two armed guards.

“Dante,” Luca commanded, not breaking eye contact with me. “Search her room. Search her personal belongings, her phone, her luggage. Every square inch.”

“Luca, please,” tears of humiliation and terror stung my eyes as the guards moved past me into my private suite. “After everything? After last night? You think I’m working for the man who murdered Sofia?”

At the mention of Sofia’s name, Luca’s jaw twitched violently.

“Sofia died because someone inside this house opened a gate,” Luca whispered, the words sounding like shattered glass. “She died because I trusted a pretty face and sweet words. I buried the mother of my child, Avery. I will not bury my son.”

Dante re-emerged from my bedroom three minutes later. In his hand was an encrypted satellite phone—sleek, black, and completely unfamiliar to me.

“Found it hidden inside the lining of her travel bag,” Dante said heavily, laying the device on the mahogany desk. “Direct channel to Julian Romano’s private frequency.”

The room spun. The walls seemed to tilt inward, suffocating me.

“That’s not mine,” I gasped, clutching my head, looking between Luca and Dante. “I swear to God, that is not mine! Someone planted it! Maria—or one of the cleaners—someone put it there!”

Luca stared at the phone. Then he looked at me. The betrayal in his eyes was so profound, so devastating, that it felt like a physical blow to my sternum.

“You will remain in the east wing holding quarters,” Luca said, his voice completely devoid of life. “Until I determine whether you are a pawn or a player.”

“No!” A desperate, agonizing wail echoed from the adjoining nursery.

Leo had woken up.

He wasn't just whimpering; he was screaming. That same, primal, terrified shriek that had haunted the restaurant weeks ago. The sound of our raised voices, the tension vibrating through the walls—his tiny nervous system had shattered once again.

“Mama!” the baby choked out between sobs, a broken, garbled syllable that paralyzed every man in the room. “Ma-ma!”

My heart tore in half. I took a step toward the nursery door, desperate to reach him, but Dante stepped smoothly into my path, his head bowed with genuine regret.

“Don't make this harder, Miss Avery,” Dante whispered.

“Let me hold him,” I begged Luca, tears streaming down my face as Leo’s screams grew more hysterical by the second. “Just let me calm him down. Then you can lock me in whatever basement you want. Just don't let him suffer!”

Luca stood there, tall, unmoving, and entirely destroyed. He looked toward the crying child, then back at the encrypted phone on his desk. The ghost of his murdered wife stood between us, a towering wall of grief, paranoia, and blood that no amount of love could tear down.

“Take her,” Luca commanded Dante, his voice barely audible.