30. Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
My eyes narrow, watching her more closely.
The way she breathes, the subtle shifting of her weight, the hand that never leaves her belly. These are all signs I recognize from the pregnant women I've known.
Labor. Early stages, but unmistakable.
I catch her eye, silent understanding passing between two women who know their place in this moment. She gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head. a request for discretion, for time.
I honor it, returning my attention to the brothers.
"You were always her favorite," Dante says, the admission clearly costing him. "Even as a child, I knew that."
Luca's laugh holds no humor. "Is that what you believed? She protected you, Dante. More than me. She saw the darkness Vito was cultivating in you and fought against it every day."
"Then she failed," Dante replies with no remorse.
Luca's gaze drops to the candles, their flames steady in the still air. "No. You're here, aren't you? Some part of you still honors her. Some part of you remembers who you were before Vito twisted you into his weapon."
I watch Dante carefully, seeing the conflict that battles behind his carefully controlled expression.
"Did you know Father added his own memorial?
Just last year… even before he died?" Luca asks, gesturing to a small, ostentatious plaque on the adjacent wall.
Marble and gold, where Elena's is simple stone.
" Vito Ravelli, Patriarch and Visionary ," Luca reads aloud, his voice dripping with disgust. "As if he deserved to rest beside her after what he did. "
Dante moves to examine it, his finger tracing the elaborate carving of the Ravelli crest above Vito's name.
"He made us enemies when we should have been brothers," he says, the words emerging as if pulled from somewhere deep and wounded.
Luca studies him, genuine surprise flashing across his features. "Yes," he agrees quietly. "He did exactly that."
"What kind of man writes his own memorial?" Dante questions, shaking his head.
"The kind of man that knew his life was about to end," Luca announces.
I've never seen fear in Dante's eyes before. But Luca's words strike something deep, making Dante's composure crack.
"What are you saying?" Dante's voice is deadly quiet.
Luca's smile is cold. "You think I didn't know you were coming for me? You think you can kill me, brother?"
My hand finds Dante's arm, steadying him as he takes a step toward his brother. The muscles beneath my fingers are coiled tight, ready to spring.
Something shifts in the cathedral's atmosphere, a change in pressure that prickles against my skin. But it's not what's going on in front of me that has me spinning on the spot.
My security training activates immediately, senses sharpening as I scan the space behind us.
Suddenly, the shadows in the alcoves seem deeper. The silence more complete.
"Dante," I whisper, moving closer to him. "Something's wrong."
The hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end, instinct screaming danger before my conscious mind can identify the threat.
Dante's eyes meet mine, recognizing the warning in my tone. His hand moves instinctively beneath his jacket, where I know his weapon waits.
Luca notices the movement, his own posture shifting as he places himself between Bianca and Dante.
"Francesca, speak! What is it?" Luca asks, voice rising in a way that makes Dante's face turn red.
"I don't know," I admit, scanning the cathedral's distant corners. "But we're not alone."
Footsteps echo through the cathedral. They're careful and quiet, but enough to notice. All four of us turn toward the sound, watching as a figure emerges from the shadows near the main altar.
Nico Ravelli walks toward us, the deliberate casualness of his movements sending warning signals flaring through my mind.
"Ah… my beautiful brothers," he greets, stopping several paces away. "I see you've started without me."
"Nico," Luca acknowledges. "We were just remembering her while we waited."
Luca's gaze flicks to Dante, the earlier menace still evident in his stance despite Nico's arrival.
"As we should," Nico agrees, his gaze moving between his elder brothers. "Elena deserves to be remembered properly. By all her sons."
Dante remains silent, his eyes never leaving Nico's face. Something passes between them, a silent communication I can't decipher.
Yesterday's conversation in the wine cellar, perhaps. The terms of surrender Nico agreed to. The betrayal still fresh between them.
"It's good to see you, Nico," Bianca says, stepping forward. "It's been too long. You disappeared without saying goodbye."
Nico's smile is as fake as they come, except no one but me seems to notice. "Indeed it has, sister-in-law. You're practically glowing. Motherhood suits you already."
Her hand moves protectively over her belly. "The doctor says any day now."
"Perfect timing," Nico replies, his voice carrying an odd cadence that sends another chill racing down my spine. "Some might call it… destiny ."
Dante shifts imperceptibly closer to me, his body tensing. He's sensed it too now—the wrongness, the danger hovering just beyond perception.
If only I knew what happened yesterday.