15. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Bianca
I wake to sunlight streaming through a crack in the blackout curtains, painting a golden stripe across Luca's side of the bed.
It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, to remember the night before.
Luca had returned late, eyes haunted by ghosts I couldn't see. He didn't speak when he entered the bedroom, just stripped down to his boxers and slid beneath the sheets beside me.
No demands on my body. No claiming me with possessive hands.
Just his arm circling my waist, pulling me against his chest until I could feel his heartbeat.
I'd waited for his hands to wander, for his mouth to find my neck the way it always did. Instead, he'd simply breathed me in, his face buried in my hair, his fingers tracing circles on my back until we both drifted to sleep.
It was the first night since he returned that he didn't take me. Didn't mark me. Didn't remind me I was his in the most primal way possible.
After three nights of his absence, I had expected his usual hunger, his need to reclaim what belonged to him. Instead, there was something different in his touch, something almost… tender .
And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything we'd done before.
Now, I stretch out across the empty sheets, the silk cool against my skin. My hand brushes something tacky and I sit up, blinking away sleep as I stare at the dark smear on the pristine black bedding.
Blood.
Not much—just a few drops that have dried to a rusty brown.
And it's not mine.
I scan the room, suddenly alert. Luca's jacket hangs over the back of a chair, his watch and phone on the nightstand. The bathroom door is closed, steam curling underneath as the shower runs inside.
Slipping from the bed, I move toward his discarded clothes. His white shirt is crumpled on the floor, and when I lift it, I see more blood—a fine spray across the cuff. Maybe not noticeable to someone who hasn't spent years scrubbing stains from hotel sheets, but to me, it might as well be a neon sign.
The shower turns off. I drop the shirt and back away, climbing back into bed just as the bathroom door opens.
Luca emerges wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, water beading on his tattooed chest, hair slicked back from his face.
His eyes land on me, gray and fathomless as winter oceans.
"You're awake." His voice is rough, as if he hasn't fully shaken off whatever darkness followed him home last night.
I nod, watching as he moves to his closet. "You came in late."
"Business with my father." He drops the towel, unashamed of his nakedness as he reaches for clean boxer shorts.
The muscles in his back ripple beneath skin marked with violence and ink—scars that tell stories of blood, tattoos that whisper power. My gaze drops lower, to the sculpted curve of his ass, hard with muscle that flexes with each subtle movement.
His body is a weapon, and despite everything, my treacherous pulse quickens at the sight.
"Must have been serious business," I say carefully. "There's blood on the sheets."
His stiff movements pause, just for an instant, before he continues dressing. "Observant as always, little rabbit."
He turns, now wearing black slacks but still bare-chested. There's a fresh cut across his knuckles, red and raw against his olive skin.
"What happened?" I ask, sitting up straighter.
Luca approaches the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. He extends his injured hand, palm up, like an offering.
"A disagreement with an employee," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting into a cruel smirk. "He questioned a shipment schedule. Said it couldn't be changed."
I take his hand in mine, examining the cuts.
They're not deep, but they must sting. Fresh blood in the creases of his knuckles tells a story of violence that would horrify a normal person. But I'm not normal anymore, am I?
"After meeting with your father?" I ask, understanding dawning.
A schedule change wouldn't normally warrant Luca's personal attention—let alone his fists. This wasn't about business. This was about release. Violent release.
His eyes meet mine, surprised by my perception. For a moment, the mask slips.
"The man will live," he says quietly. "But he'll remember who gives orders in this family."
I run my thumb across his abraded knuckles, feeling the slight tremor in his hand that betrays how deeply his father's words cut him. Luca Ravelli doesn't lose control—he weaponizes it, channels it. Whatever Vito said in that study turned my husband's precision into something rawer, something dangerous enough that an unlucky employee bore the brunt of it.
"Vito has that effect." His fingers curl around mine, warm and sure. "He mentioned you."
My pulse quickens. "What about me?"
"He's... curious." Luca's eyes evade me for a moment. "The Volkovs have been asking questions. About us. About you."
"The Volkovs," I repeat, remembering the whispers at brunch. "The Russian family Dante mentioned? They seemed dangerous."
A shadow crosses his face, something dark and unreadable. "They are. Especially to my family. They're the ones everyone believes killed my mother."
I freeze, the revelation hitting me hard. "Your mother was murdered?"
"So they say."
"You don't believe it?"
His jaw tightens. "Let's just say, after discussing with my father yesterday, I'm reconsidering old stories. And in three weeks, we'll be sitting across from them at a meeting my father arranged."
I tug him closer, until he sits on the edge of the bed. "Tell me about it."
"No." There's no anger in the refusal, just finality. "Just know that my father is inviting the wolves to our door, and you—" he touches my cheek, gentle despite the danger in his eyes, "—need to be very careful."
"Because of who I am to you," I guess.
His laugh is low, humorless. "Because of who you are, period."
Before I can ask what that means, he stands, moving toward his dress shirt hanging in the closet.
"I need to shower," I say, sliding from the bed. "Then I'd like to go to the garden. I've been cooped up inside too long."
Luca nods, his back to me as he buttons his shirt. "I will allow it. But take Alessio with you. No wandering alone."
I want to argue, to remind him I'm not a child, but the blood on the sheets and the fresh wounds on his hands make me pause. Whatever game is being played in this house of shadows, the stakes are clearly rising.
"Luca..." I hesitate at the bathroom door. "Last night. You seemed..."
"What?" He turns, face carefully neutral.
"I don't know. Different."
Something flickers in his eyes. "Maybe I am. Maybe you're changing me."
"Is that a good thing?"
"No," he says softly. "But I can't seem to stop it."
***
The shower is hot enough to turn my skin pink, steam billowing around me as I wash away the night. My mind replays Luca's words from this morning, trying to fit them together like puzzle pieces without edges.
The Volkovs have been asking questions... My father is inviting wolves to our door... Maybe you're changing me...
I rinse conditioner from my hair, wondering how many more secrets this house holds, how many more ghosts haunt the man I've married. Last night was the first time I've seen Luca vulnerable—not dominant, not calculating, just... human. The way he held me, like I was something precious rather than something owned.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around myself and pad back into the bedroom. It's empty, Luca's cologne the only trace of him left behind since he left this morning.
I dress quickly in jeans and a cashmere sweater Teresa left for me. It's casual by Ravelli standards, which of course means designer labels and fabrics soft enough to make me forget what cheap cotton feels like against my skin.
The bedroom is silent as I move toward the door leading to the garden. But something makes me pause, my hand on the ornate handle.
Through another door—one I've barely noticed before—I can see the edge of Luca's private study. I've glimpsed it only in passing, always closed, always off-limits.
Now, it stands ajar.
My heartbeat quickens as I approach. This is forbidden territory is Luca's inner sanctum, where he handles whatever business keeps the Ravelli empire turning, whatever secrets keep him returning with blood on his hands and darkness in his eyes.
I should walk away. Go to the garden as planned. Pretend I didn't notice this open door, this silent invitation to betray his trust.
Instead, I push it open wider and step inside.
The office is exactly what I'd expect from Luca. Sleek, minimalist, everything in its place. A massive desk dominates the center, its surface bare except for a closed laptop and a single framed photo turned away from the door. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes and architectural models of buildings I recognize from the London skyline.
I move deeper into the room, drawn to the photo on the desk. It's Luca as a teenager, standing beside a beautiful dark-haired woman with his same gray eyes.
" Elena ," I whisper, staring at the photo.
The resemblance is striking. Not just in coloring, but in the proud tilt of her chin, the direct gaze that seems to follow me as I circle the desk.
Behind it stands a filing cabinet, modern looking with a biometric lock glowing red beside the top drawer. Obviously secure, obviously private.
But beside it, partially hidden by a decorative panel, is an older cabinet. Wooden, with brass handles and a keyhole that looks like it hasn't been used in years.
I glance back at the door, listening for footsteps. Nothing.
The top drawer slides open easily, revealing hanging files organized carefully. Most contain what look like property deeds, investment portfolios, the mundane paperwork of wealth.
The second drawer sticks slightly, but gives way with a firm tug. Inside, thicker files are labeled by name rather than content. I scan them quickly— Volkov, D. Castellano, M. Greco, A. —before one stops me cold.
Sutton, M.
My mother's name.
I pull the file out with trembling hands, heart pounding so loudly I'm sure someone will hear it. The folder is thin compared to the others, newer looking too, but its very existence feels like the floor dropping out from under me.
Opening it, I find medical records. They're recent ones, from the care facility where my mother has lived for the past five years. Monthly updates on her condition, medication changes, visitor logs.
And financial statements showing payments from an offshore account I've never seen before.
Someone has been paying my mother's bills. Someone has been watching her. Watching me.
The sound of a door opening somewhere in the wing sends a jolt of panic through me. I shove the file back into place, close the drawer, and am halfway across the room when Luca's voice freezes me in place.
"Find something interesting, little rabbit?"
He stands in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame, expression unreadable. His suit is impeccable, his hair styled perfectly, but his eyes are cold as winter steel.
"I—" I begin, searching for an excuse, a plausible explanation for why I'm standing in his private office, rifling through his files.
"Don't fucking lie, Bianca ." He pushes off the doorframe, moving toward me with the fluid grace of a predator. "Lying will only make this worse."
My chin lifts, defiance rising despite the fear coiling in my stomach. "Why do you have files on my mother?"
Luca stops, something flashing across his face—surprise, perhaps, that I found that particular piece of information.
"I have files on everyone connected to you." His voice is a deep growl. "Your mother. Your ex-fiancé. Your childhood friends. Even that hotel manager who gave you a room the night I found you."
"Why?"
"Because knowledge is power." He circles me slowly, like a wolf sizing up its prey. "And in this world, in my world, power is the only currency that matters."
I turn with him, refusing to have him at my back. "So what does your file say about my mother? About me?"
His smile is sharp enough to cut. "That Marina Sutton has early-onset Alzheimer's. That she hasn't recognized you in years. That you faithfully visited every Sunday until something changed—you disappeared for six months, and when you returned, your visits became less frequent, more painful."
The truth of his words slices deeper than any blade.
"You had no right," I whisper.
"I had every right." He moves closer, until I can smell his cologne, feel the heat of his body. "From the moment I decided you would be mine, I had every right to know everything about you."
"And what else did you learn?" I ask, refusing to back away, even as anger and fear war inside me. "What other secrets do you think you've uncovered?"
His hand comes up to grip my chin with a hard grab. I couldn't look away from his piercing gaze if I wanted to.
"I know that your mother started forgetting things when you were twenty-one. I know that Marcus proposed after dating you for just three months. I know that you disappeared for half a year before accepting that cheap ring that asshole gave you."
My heart pounds against my ribs.
"But most importantly," he continues, his thumb tracing my lower lip, "I know that someone else has been watching you. Long before I ever saw you. Someone who's been paying your mother's medical bills. Someone who wants to keep you close, but hidden."
I swallow hard. "Who?"
"That," Luca says, his grip softening to a caress, "is what I'm still trying to discover."
His other hand slides around my waist, pulling me against him until there's no space left between us. I should push him away. Should demand answers. Should run as far as these mansion walls will allow.
Instead, I remain perfectly still, caught in the gravity of him.
"Now, little rabbit… You broke into my office," he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. "Invaded my privacy. Questioned me." His teeth graze my earlobe. "Do you know what happens to people who defy me?"
I try to pull back, but his arm is iron around my waist. "Luca—"
"Shh." His finger presses against my lips. "I think it's time you learned."
Before I can respond, he's pulling me toward the far wall, where a panel slides open at his touch to reveal a hidden door I never knew existed.
"What is this?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
Luca's smile is dark as midnight as he guides me across the threshold. "This, cara mia , is where I teach obedience."
The room beyond is a study in shadows and luxury. Black velvet walls, dim red lighting, and implements of pleasure and pain displayed with the same meticulous care Luca brings to everything he touches.
My breath catches as I take it all in—the padded bench, the chains suspended from the ceiling, the cabinet of gleaming sexy toys I can only imagine the purpose of.
"You're afraid," Luca observes, his hand splayed at the small of my back. "Don't be. Fear has no place here. Only honesty."
He moves to a sleek black cabinet, opening it to reveal an array of silks, ropes and leather restraints. His fingers brush over them thoughtfully before selecting a blindfold of the softest bright red silk.
"For snooping through my things," he says, turning to me with heat in his eyes, "you lose the privilege of sight. For questioning me—" he pulls a pair of leather cuffs from the drawer, "—you lose freedom of movement."
I should be terrified. Should be backing away, screaming, fighting.
But heat pools low in my belly, a shameful, undeniable want that makes my skin flush and my breath quicken.
"And if I refuse?" I manage, voice steadier than I feel.
Luca approaches slowly, blindfold dangling from his fingers like a promise. "I have told you before, I might be a dangerous man, Mrs. Ravelli. But I will never do anything to you that you do not want. If you desire, you walk out that door, and we pretend this room does not exist. You will still be punished, but merely with my hands." He stops inches from me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the spice of his skin. "But we both know that's not how you want to be disciplined."
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because you're not just curious about me, Bianca." His voice drops lower, to that velvet register that makes my knees weak. "You're curious about yourself. About why, despite everything, you crave what only I can give you."
He's right, and we both know it. Since that first night in the hotel, when he showed me a world of power and darkness I never knew existed, some broken, hungry part of me has been drawn to his flame like a moth.
I lift my chin, making my choice with eyes wide open. "Do your worst, Luciano."
His smile is triumphant as he circles behind me, the silk brushing my cheek before darkness claims my vision.
"Oh, little rabbit," he murmurs against my ear, his hands already working the buttons of my sweater, "I plan to."