57. Luna
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
LUNA
“Do you have time to shower with me before you begin your day?” I ask, before my fingers glide along his back.
His smoldering gaze meets mine, and he smirks. “I should say no, but let’s be honest, when have I ever been able to resist you?”
The water is hot, just the way I like it.
Steam curls around us, fogging the glass as Nico’s hands skim the curve of my stomach.
His calloused palms make me burn for him.
Pregnancy has turned my body into a traitorous bitch in heat.
But here, under the spray, with his lips pressed to the nape of my neck, I’m just a woman. His woman.
“You’re staring,” I murmur, tilting my head to catch his gaze.
A lazy curve tugs at his lips. “You’re breathtaking.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest isn’t from the water. Breathtaking, ha . “I’m waddling like a duck and peeing every ten minutes.”
Nico hums, unfazed, his hands still tracing slow circles along my belly. “I don’t know. I think ducks are kind of cute.”
I flick water at his face. “Call me cute again and I’ll make sure our child inherits my stubbornness and my defiant tendencies.”
He chuckles, catching my wrist before I can splash him again. “Too late. She’s already doomed.”
I roll my eyes, but his fingers ghost along the curve of my stomach. “Poor kid,” I mutter. “She never stood a chance.”
We dress in silence, and while Nico is buttoning his shirt, his phone buzzes. I’m guessing Mateo. His jaw tightens; a telltale sign he’s ready to snap. I don’t ask because I’ve learned the hard way that he’ll tell me in his own time.
“Go,” I say, fastening my robe. “Before Mateo combusts.”
“You’ll rest?” His knuckles brush my cheek, waiting.
“I’ll consider it.” He catches my wrist before I can pull away, and then his mouth steals the very air from my lungs. The kiss is urgent and desperate, as if he’s trying to etch himself into my soul like he’s afraid I’ll suddenly disappear. Never.
“Try not to start any fires before lunch,” I say, twisting free of his hold. If I don’t, he’ll never leave. Mateo wouldn’t call unless it were important.
His laugh is a dark rumble. “No promises, amore mio .”
I wait until the door clicks shut behind him before my hand drifts to the sting between my thighs, still throbbing from earlier.
The mirror doesn’t lie when I inspect the bite marks he left behind.
I dress methodically in black slacks and a cashmere sweater that hides the swell of my belly.
Soon, I’ll need to shop for maternity clothes since mine are getting too tight around the middle.
Our executive chef, Marco, blanches when I enter the kitchen. His knife stills mid-chop. I can’t wait until Laurent comes back from vacation.
“The osso buco ,” I say, leaning against the island. “You used veal from Calabria last week.”
He swallows. “Yes, was there a problem?”
I pluck a grape from the fruit bowl and roll it between my fingers. “I heard through the grapevine that their herds were injected with antibiotics during the tariff disputes. Use Lombardy suppliers from now on.”
“But the cost.”
“Is unimportant compared to the food we put in our mouth on the daily.” I bite the grape and savor the sweetness.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “Lombardy veal. Of course.”
By the time I reach the courtyard, Nico’s voice carries through his office window. “Burn the docks first,” I hear him say. I smile because lunch is hours away.
As I round the corner, the garden comes into view, and I’m in my glory. Geometric hedges, colorful gravel paths, and every rose pruned to perfection. I’m adjusting my jacket when the crunch of gravel alerts me to the fact that I’m not alone.
Caterina glides into the courtyard. Her gaze—Nico’s onyx eyes aged with bitterness, drops to my stomach before rising.
“Five months. Six?” Her voice is as smooth as velvet. I knew this moment would come eventually. And I’m not feeling very sociable today. I don’t hide my bump. I let her count the weeks since Nico and I were married.
“Do the math yourself.” Her smile is accusatory.
“Such vulgarity. I’d hoped motherhood might soften you.” She steps closer, Chanel No. 5 clashing with the gardenias. “Then again, Bianca told me what happened at the gala, so I’m not surprised.”
I should have known that the two of them still kept in touch. Women like that run in packs.
“Bianca should concern herself more with her own delusions,” I say coolly, tracing a thorn on a nearby rose. “Does she still keep Nico’s engagement ring in her nightstand? Pathetic, even for her.”
Caterina’s smile tightens, and it brings me great joy knowing I hit a nerve. Bianca’s obsession with Nico is legendary. Apparently, she went so far as to have his initials monogrammed on her handbags. I guess she’ll need to buy some new ones now. Another excuse to spend her daddy’s money.
“Jealousy is such an ugly color on her,” I add, snapping the thorn clean off the stem. “Then again, it must sting, watching him married to another woman after she spent years polishing his mother’s silver to earn a spot at his side.”
The older woman’s breath hitches, her veneer slipping further. Good . Let her remember I didn’t grovel for acceptance. I fucking took it.
“A biting tongue and ruthless ambitions,” Caterina sneers, recovering swiftly. “Bianca may not wear his ring, but she’s one of us . You?” Her gaze flicks to my stomach. “You’re a complication and should have been sent back to your father after Giovanni died.”
Caterina’s words hit like a slap, but I refuse to play into her empty threats. It’s on the tip of my tongue to come clean about the hit I placed on her son’s head, but I bite my tongue. Nico would be furious with me. So, it’s best if she’s left in the dark, where she belongs.
Instead, I step into her space, close enough to count the lines on her face.
“A complication?” I laugh. “Let me remind you, Nico didn’t marry Bianca.
He didn’t kneel for her, didn’t put his child in her.
” My palm rests on the swell of my stomach, our child.
“This isn’t a complication. It’s a new life, and I’m the mother of the next Boss.
I’m the one who shares Nico’s bed, his secrets, and his empire.
You think this family gets a vote? No, and his soldiers will kneel to the woman who holds their future in her womb. ”
Her nostrils flare, but I’m not done with this bitch.
“Run back to Bianca. Tell her to keep her daggers sharp. I’ll return them buried in her heart.”
Caterina’s lips part, but no sound escapes. Good. Let her choke on the truth. I turn on my heel, gravel crunching beneath my feet. I stride toward the house without glancing back. I’m angry since her bitterness tainted my morning walk through the gardens.
I don’t stop until I’ve slammed the library door behind me. I sink into the wingback chair by the window, fingers trembling as I unclench them. My palm bears crescent moons from my fingernails, and blood stains my palms. The baby stirs, as if sensing the trouble I’ve unleashed.
I trace the spine of Machiavelli’s The Prince, Nico’s favorite. He’d read passages to me in bed, his voice a rumble against my skin. “Everyone sees what you appear to be; few experience what you really are.”