Chapter 6
Sienna
The bathroom tile was cold against my knees as I emptied the contents of my stomach for the third time that morning. I gripped the marble counter, forcing myself to breathe steadily.
Just stress. It had to be stress. But my mind began calculating despite my efforts. When was my last period? The chaos of the wedding, the constant tension—I'd lost track of so many normal things.
Six weeks.
The number hit me like ice water. Six weeks since our wedding night. Six weeks since I'd used my body as a weapon against Luca, only to have it backfire spectacularly.
This was the fourth morning in a row I'd been sick. I stared at my hollow-eyed reflection, barely recognizing myself.
I needed answers. Moving to the desk, I opened my laptop, cross-referencing symptoms with growing dread. Nausea. Fatigue. Coffee aversion. Food sensitivity.
The pieces fit together with terrifying clarity. But I needed proof before I did anything that might tip off Luca.
The days had developed a suffocating rhythm.
I woke alone—Luca was always gone before dawn, managing his empire while I remained hidden like a dirty secret.
A rotating staff of silent, stone-faced women arrived at nine to clean, restock the kitchen, leave fresh towels.
They never spoke to me beyond polite nods, and I suspected they'd been ordered not to engage.
I'd tried, those first few weeks. Asked questions, attempted conversation. But their carefully blank expressions told me everything I needed to know—they were Luca's people first, and I was the job they'd been assigned.
So I'd stopped trying.
Most days, I paced. Read the books from Luca's shelves—philosophy and poetry that revealed more about him than he probably intended thanks to the things he underlined, or the notes jotted in margins.
Stared out windows at a city I could see but not touch.
The penthouse was beautiful, comfortable, stocked with everything I could possibly need.
Except freedom.
The morning sickness made hiding harder.
I'd learned to time my bathroom visits when the staff was in other rooms, running water to cover the sounds.
But this morning had been bad—the fourth day in a row I'd been sick, and I was running out of excuses for my pallor, my exhaustion, my sudden aversion to the coffee they left each morning.
Today I couldn't hide in the penthouse. Today, I had to play the role Luca demanded.
The elevator opened into the nightclub's private dining room. Luca was there with his lieutenants, his eyes tracking my movements as I entered.
"Gentlemen," I said coolly, sliding into the vacant seat beside him.
"Mrs. Romano." Marco nodded stiffly.
Six weeks into this marriage, and I still flinched at the title.
"You look beautiful," Luca said, his voice low. "But pale. Are you ill?"
"Just tired." The lie came easily.
His hand slid to the small of my back as he guided me to my seat, fingers splayed possessively across my spine. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of my dress, and I fought the urge to lean into him. To let him steady me the way my traitorous body wanted.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his lips close enough to my ear that his breath raised goosebumps along my neck.
"I'm cold," I lied again.
His thumb traced a slow circle against my spine. "Liar."
I pulled away before I did something stupid like turn into his touch. Like remind everyone in this room that underneath the business arrangement, we burned for each other.
A server appeared with coffee. The rich aroma hit me like a wave, and my stomach lurched. I pushed the cup away, breathing through my mouth.
"Water," I said, voice strained. "Just water, please."
Marco and Angelo exchanged glances.
"Perhaps Mrs. Romano would prefer tea," the server suggested. "We have ginger tea that might settle your stomach."
"That would be lovely," I managed, ignoring the speculative looks.
Luca's fingers tightened on my knee. "Marco, brief my wife while I take a call."
He disappeared, leaving me alone with his men.
"Ricci's a snake," Marco said bluntly. "He's been circling for weeks, making noise about meeting you, asking questions about the marriage.
So the boss decided to control the situation—invite him here, on our territory, and put on a show.
" His eyes met mine. "Ricci suspects the marriage isn't legitimate.
This meeting is your husband's way of proving him wrong.
You two need to look madly in love, completely united.
Convince Ricci there's nothing to exploit. "
"About our marriage?"
Marco's silence was answer enough.
The server returned with ginger tea. As I wrapped my hands around it, a memory surfaced—my sister Isabella three years ago, pushing away coffee with the same revulsion. She'd been pregnant then.
I needed proof, not speculation. Despite Luca's security, I still had resources he didn't know about.
"You're all treating me like I'm made of glass," I observed. "Why?"
"The boss was clear about your position," Marco replied uncomfortably. "Protected," he said when I pressed.
I'd noticed the same protective instincts in all of Luca's men lately, though Francesco seemed more interested in the details than the others.
Always asking specific questions about my routines, my preferences, my schedule - claiming it was for "comprehensive security coverage.
" Something about his eagerness felt different from the others' professional caution.
Different words for the same reality. I had traded one cage for another.
"Mrs. Romano." A female voice interrupted.
Adriana approached—Luca's sister, unmistakable with her aristocratic features.
"May I borrow you for a moment? Girl talk."
I followed her to a small office covered with fashion sketches.
"So," she said, closing the door, "you're the woman who tamed my brother."
"Hardly. It's just business."
"Right. Business that had him storming around like a thundercloud this morning."
She moved to adjust a silk scarf draped over a dress form—one of her designs, I realized.
The fabric was stunning, deep burgundy with gold threading.
"Luca thinks I don't know how he checks on me.
Weekly security reports. Background checks on every client who orders custom pieces.
He's been protecting me since I was fifteen, and he still can't just ask if I'm safe.
" Her smile was fond despite her exasperation.
She leaned forward. "Listen carefully, Sienna. This marriage is more than a simple alliance."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning someone orchestrated this. Someone wanted you and Luca together, and I don't think it was either of your fathers."
A chill ran down my spine. "That's ridiculous."
"Think, Sienna. Why was Luca there, right at that moment, to catch you when you fled?"
The question hit like a physical blow. I'd pushed aside those suspicions, too focused on survival.
"My brother doesn't believe in coincidences," Adriana continued. "Neither should you."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're not just a pawn in this game. You're a player. And players should know the board they're on."
She explained the history—how Luca's father had murdered Giuseppe's twin brother over a woman twenty-five years ago, an uncle I’d never met.
How Giuseppe had been waiting decades for revenge against the Romano bloodline.
How the timing of my arranged marriage to the Calabrese family, followed by Luca's convenient "rescue," felt too orchestrated to be coincidence.
"I don't have proof," Adriana admitted. "But I know how these men think. Giuseppe wants revenge and control of the Moretti empire. Ricci wants Romano territory. And both of them benefit if you and Luca destroy each other."
"You think they're working together?"
"I think someone is pulling strings we can't see yet. And I think you and my brother are in more danger than either of you realize." Her expression darkened. "Watch Giuseppe. Watch Ricci. And watch the people closest to both of you. Because if I'm right, the traitor is already inside the walls."
"A coordinated coup," I breathed.
"Exactly. Giuseppe gets revenge and control of the Moretti empire. Ricci gets Romano territory and resources. And both your bloodlines disappear in the process."
A knock interrupted us. One of Luca's men appeared. "Boss is looking for his wife."
As I followed him back, Adriana's words echoed: Someone orchestrated this.
The guard led me to Luca's office, where he stood with his back to the door, staring out at the city.
"You shouldn't wander off," he said without turning.
"I was with your sister. Hardly dangerous."
"Adriana is always dangerous." He turned, expression unreadable. "What did she say to you?"
I hesitated. Could I trust him?
"Nothing important," I lied. "Just welcoming me to the family."
His eyes narrowed but he didn't push.
"You look ill," he observed.
"I'm fine." The words came out sharper than intended, my hands smoothing my dress—a nervous habit that always betrayed me.
He crossed the room, stopping inches from me. His hand cupped my cheek with startling gentleness.
"Sienna, I need you alert tonight. If you can't handle meeting with Ricci—"
"I said I'm fine. And I don't appreciate being kept in the dark about threats to our safety."
His jaw tightened. "What are you talking about?"
"Someone's threatening us. Making noise about our marriage being fake." I met his gaze defiantly. "Yet no one will tell me details. What the hell is going on, Luca?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"There was a note. Blackmail. Someone knows our arrangement isn't what it appears to be."
"And you weren't going to tell me?"
"I'm telling you now."
"Only because I forced the issue." Anger flared. "I'm not some fragile doll to be protected, Luca. I'm your wife, at least on paper. I deserve to know what threats we're facing."
"My wife," he repeated, the words heavy with something I couldn't name. "Yes, you are. Which means your safety is my responsibility."
"My safety has always been my own responsibility."
"Not anymore." His eyes hardened. "Like it or not, Sienna, you're a Romano now. That puts a target on your back."
The room felt too small. My head spun with competing emotions—anger, frustration, fear, and beneath it all, an unwelcome flutter at his fierce protectiveness.
"I can't help defend us if I don't know what I'm fighting," I said steadily.
He studied me, weighing how much to reveal.
"Someone left a crude note demanding money to keep quiet about our arrangement," he finally said. "We have a lead—a bartender I fired who's been running his mouth. But he's not working alone. Someone inside my operation is feeding information to our enemies."
"A traitor," I murmured.
"Yes." His jaw clenched. "And until I find them and deal with the threat, you stay close. You follow my lead. You play the devoted wife."
"Or what?"
"Or we both end up dead," he said with brutal honesty. "This isn't just about reputation, Sienna. If our families discover our marriage is a fraud, the ceasefire ends. Blood flows. And we'll be the first casualties."
His stark words settled heavily in my chest. We were bound now, our fates intertwined.
"Fine," I relented. "I'll play my part. But no more secrets between us, Luca. Not about threats to our lives."
Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, perhaps respect. For the first time, he wasn't looking at me like a possession to protect. He was looking at me like an equal.
"No more secrets about immediate threats," he agreed carefully. "The rest stays as it is."
A wave of nausea washed over me suddenly. The room tilted, and I swayed on my feet. Luca's hands shot out to steady me, his grip firm on my waist.
"Sienna?" Concern colored his voice.
"Just dizzy," I mumbled, fighting the bile rising in my throat. "I haven't eaten today."
It wasn't entirely a lie. I hadn't been able to keep anything down since dawn.
He guided me to the chair with surprising gentleness. "I'll have food sent up."
"No, I'm not hungry."
He ignored me, pressing his desk button. "Ginger tea and plain toast. And tell Marco to reschedule the Ricci meeting for tomorrow. Mrs. Romano isn't feeling well."
I opened my mouth to object, but Luca silenced me with a look.
"One day won't matter," he said firmly. "And I need you at full strength."
The concern seemed genuine, and for a moment, I allowed myself to lean into it. To imagine this was real—that I was truly his wife, that he truly cared.
But as I stared out the window, my stomach twisted with something beyond morning sickness. Adriana's warnings. Luca's secrets. Unknown enemies circling.
I wasn't free. I wasn't safe.
I never really had been, and although a strange relief had come with marrying Luca and seeing another side of the city, deep down I knew nothing had really changed.
I was still a prisoner, only now my keeper knew how to set my body on fire with just a look.
And this prison might be holding more than just me.
I had resources Luca didn't know about. Along with the burner phone, I'd kept the skills my father had drilled into me before illness weakened him—not just languages and etiquette, but practical survival tools.
A Moretti must never depend entirely on others for protection, he'd said, teaching me everything from lock-picking to basic electronics.
There were three contacts I could trust who'd served him before Giuseppe seized control during his decline.
If I was going to confirm what I suspected, I needed supplies. Medical tests. Privacy. And I needed them before Luca discovered what might be growing inside me.
Because if my suspicions were correct—if I was carrying the heir to both the Romano and Moretti empires—everything was about to change.
A Romano-Moretti child would be the ultimate prize. Or the ultimate target.
And I was the only one who could protect us both.