Chapter 12
Sienna
Five days since everything changed. Five days since Luca showed me that photograph hours after we'd been intimate, proving that vulnerability and danger were inseparable in our world. Five days of him pulling away again, retreating behind walls I'd thought were finally coming down.
I placed my hand on my stomach—nine weeks pregnant now, though still not showing. The baby growing inside me was both a promise and a target, making me simultaneously more precious and more vulnerable than I'd ever been.
The burner phone I'd hidden weeks ago remained tucked away, unused but available.
My official phone—the one Luca's security monitored—showed forty-three blocked calls and twenty-seven filtered messages.
Most from Isabella. Three from my father's household.
Two from Father Salvatore. One from Adriana, Luca's sister.
I'd read the filtered messages Luca's team had deemed "safe"—Isabella's first one: Where are you? Dad won't tell me anything.
Then: Please just let me know you're okay.
Then, yesterday: I'm scared.
Each one shredded me. But Luca was right—any response could be intercepted, traced, used. Giuseppe would exploit my sister without hesitation if he knew how to reach her through me.
So I'd stayed silent, hating every second of it.
Now, a new text appeared. Not filtered. Not blocked. Unknown number that had bypassed security entirely.
Your father is dying faster than they told you.
Giuseppe has been lying about the timeline—you have days, not weeks.
I was your father's doctor before Giuseppe replaced me with someone he controls.
I have his real medical files and evidence of Giuseppe's plans.
Your father wanted you to have this before.
.. Terminal B, locker #224, noon tomorrow. I'm risking everything.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was exactly what I'd been warned about—someone trying to manipulate me, to lure me into danger. But the specific details, the knowledge of my uncle's machinations, the reference to my father's original physician...
My finger hovered over the delete button, but I stopped myself. If this was real, Luca needed to see it. If it was a trap, he needed to know what Giuseppe was planning. Terminal B, locker #224, noon tomorrow. But more importantly—was this real, or another of Giuseppe's traps?
The answer came sooner than I expected.
My phone rang. Uncle Giuseppe.
"Sienna, cara mia," his smooth voice filled the line. "I heard you've been feeling unwell. Pregnancy can be... challenging."
My blood chilled. How did he know? "Uncle Giuseppe. I wasn't expecting to hear from you."
"Family should stay in touch, especially during difficult times. Your father's illness, your new... situation. So many changes." His tone was perfectly cordial, but something underneath made my skin crawl.
"I had lunch with Salvatore Ricci yesterday," Giuseppe continued casually. "Such an interesting man. He mentioned how much he's looking forward to meeting you properly. Said he has great hopes for future... cooperation between our families."
The threat was clear. Giuseppe wasn't just planning a takeover—he was already negotiating with the Calabrese about carving up the territories afterward.
"We should have lunch soon. Catch up properly," he added.
"Of course," I managed. "When things settle down."
"Yes, when things settle down," he repeated, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Give my regards to your husband. Tell him famiglia always remembers."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, pieces clicking together with sickening clarity. The earlier text—the one about my father dying faster, the doctor with evidence, Terminal B—it wasn't from some loyal physician risking everything. It was Giuseppe.
He'd sent it knowing I'd be desperate enough to investigate, knowing I'd walk straight into whatever trap he'd laid.
But if it was a trap, why the elaborate setup? Why not just—
The realization hit like ice water. Because he needed me to come willingly. Needed it to look like I'd chosen to betray Luca, to run back to my family. That would shatter the Romano-Moretti alliance more effectively than any assassination.
I set the phone down carefully, as if it might explode. Giuseppe knew about the pregnancy. Knew where I was. And was confident enough to call me directly, to threaten me while I stood in Luca's fortress.
If Giuseppe succeeded—if he killed me and the baby—what would happen to Isabella? She'd be alone, unprotected, with no one standing between her and our uncle's ambition. She'd become his next pawn, forced into the same life I'd been fighting to spare her from.
That thought steadied me more than fear for my own life. Whatever happened today, I needed to survive for Isabella. To keep her free.
The walls suddenly felt thinner. The security, less absolute.
I needed Luca to take this seriously. To see that waiting, hiding, wasn't working anymore.
When Luca returned that evening, exhaustion etched into every line of his face, I made a decision. I had to at least try to involve him.
"Luca, I received a message today."
He was instantly alert, fatigue falling away like a discarded mask. "What kind of message?"
I pulled up my phone, showing him the message. He read it twice, his expression growing darker with each word.
"It's a trap," he said immediately, his voice flat with certainty. "Delete this. Now."
"I know," I said quickly. "Giuseppe called right after I got this. That's when I realized—he sent it. He's trying to lure me out."
Luca's expression shifted from anger to sharp focus. "He called you?"
"Mentioned my pregnancy. Ricci. Said 'family always remembers.'" I wrapped my arms around myself. "The text was bait. The call was pressure. He's setting a trap at Terminal B."
"And you're telling me this because...?" His voice was careful, testing.
"Because I'm not stupid enough to walk into it. And because you promised—no more secrets about threats." I met his gaze steadily. "We're in this together. That means I tell you when my uncle is making moves, even if—especially if—he's using my father to manipulate me."
Something in his expression softened. "You're not going."
"I know. But you need to know what he's planning. Maybe we can use it somehow."
"No." He turned away, the gesture as final as a door slamming. "Tomorrow I'm meeting with Ricci. You stay here, under guard, until I eliminate the threat."
"Luca, please—"
"This isn't negotiable, Sienna." He didn't even look back. "You're pregnant. And you're the target they're trying to draw out."
The finality in his voice made my decision for me.
I stood staring at that closed door for a long moment, the finality of it settling over me like a shroud.
He'd made his choice. Protect me by controlling me. Keep me safe by keeping me ignorant.
And I'd just made mine.
That night, I lay awake in the bed we'd been sharing since that first night—five days ago, after the dance, after everything had shifted between us.
It had become routine without discussion: he'd come to bed hours after I did, exhausted from managing his crumbling empire, and I'd feel the mattress dip as he settled on his side.
We didn't talk about it. Didn't acknowledge that separate beds had become one shared space. It just... was.
Tonight, he came to bed late again, keeping to his side of the mattress as always.
His breathing eventually deepened, and his arm unconsciously draped across my waist in sleep—the only time he allowed himself that vulnerability.
Even in sleep, his touch affected me. His arm was heavy across my waist, his hand splayed possessively over my stomach where our child grew. I could feel the warmth of his body behind me, the steady rhythm of his breathing against my neck.
I shifted slightly, and his arm tightened reflexively, pulling me back against his chest. The movement pressed me against the hard planes of his body, and I felt an answering heat low in my belly despite everything—the danger, the lies, the plan forming in my mind.
His hand moved in sleep, sliding lower, and for a moment I forgot to breathe. Forgot about Giuseppe's trap and Terminal B and escape plans. There was only this—his touch, his warmth, the way my body responded to him even when my mind knew better.
I pressed my hand over his, stopping the movement before it went further. Before I lost my resolve.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into the darkness, knowing he couldn't hear me. Sorry for what I was about to do. Sorry for the trust I was about to break.
But not sorry enough to stay.
I felt a pang of something that might have been regret. If I did this—if I betrayed his trust, slipped past his guards—there might be no coming back. The fragile thing growing between us might shatter beyond repair.
But staying in the dark, being protected without agency, would kill something inside me just as surely.
My father's voice echoed from a buried memory: "The most dangerous position in our world isn't standing in the line of fire. It's standing in the dark, waiting for someone else to decide when you burn."
By dawn, I'd formulated a plan.
The plan was reckless, dangerous, possibly suicidal. Everything my father had taught me not to do.
But he'd also taught me that sometimes the only way to win was to make a move no one expected.
I was done waiting for permission to fight for my own survival.
The nausea woke me at 5 a.m.—it always did now, like clockwork. I made it to the bathroom before getting sick, then sat on the cool tile floor, forehead pressed against my knees.
Eight weeks pregnant and planning an escape. The timing couldn't be worse. But if I waited until I felt better, Giuseppe's window might close.
I forced myself to eat dry crackers, knowing I'd need whatever energy I could manage.
When Luca left the next morning with a terse goodbye, I started my mental countdown.
The burner phone I'd hidden weeks ago would stay behind—too easy to trace.
I had contacts my father had cultivated, people who'd served him before Giuseppe's influence spread.
If I was going to move against my uncle, I needed to know his exact plans first.
I'd been observing the guard rotations for weeks.
Angelo's patterns. The maintenance schedules.
Security briefings I heard by chance. And I'd located the emergency cash Luca kept in his office—two hundred dollars in twenties, tucked in the back of his desk drawer.
I'd taken half, figuring he'd be less likely to notice.
Weeks ago, before Luca grew suspicious of Francesco's loyalties, I'd overheard him briefing Angelo about system updates from the kitchen: "The new dual authentication is causing delays for maintenance staff.
If the main system glitches, the temporary override is seven-seven-alpha. Don't write it down—memorize it."
I'd filed the information away automatically, another survival instinct from childhood. Now, with Francesco removed from security duties, that override code might be my only way out.
Watching Angelo check the monitors, I saw my opportunity. The keycard he always set down.
When he moved to adjust a camera angle, I acted. The keycard slid into my pocket in one smooth motion, replaced with a credit card from my wallet—inactive, but the same size and weight as a keycard. He wouldn't notice the swap until the next authentication check.
My heart pounded as I moved toward the service corridor. One chance. The override code Francesco had so helpfully provided, the stolen keycard, and enough nerve to walk through a door that might trigger every alarm Luca had installed.
The keypad glowed in the dim hallway. I entered the code: seven-seven-alpha.
The panel beeped once. Access granted.
The service door opened with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a dimly lit tunnel stretching ahead. Cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of concrete and industrial cleaner.
One last chance to turn back. To be the dutiful wife, the protected princess, safely ensconced in Luca's gilded cage.
Instead, I stepped forward into the unknown, letting the door seal behind me with a soft, damning click.
The tunnel was exactly as I'd imagined from studying the building schematics I'd found in Luca's office weeks ago—narrow, utilitarian, designed for maintenance access rather than comfort. Emergency lighting cast everything in harsh shadows. My footsteps echoed too loudly in the confined space.
I moved quickly, counting doors, following the path that would lead to the loading dock three blocks away. From there, public transportation. Anonymous crowds. Freedom, however temporary.
Behind me, alarms would be sounding. Angelo would discover the switched keycard. Luca would be notified.
But I'd have a head start. Enough time to reach Terminal B, to discover what Giuseppe was really planning. Enough time to prove I could protect myself and our child, that I was more than just a liability to be hidden away.
The service tunnel ended at a heavy door marked "Authorized Personnel Only.
" I pushed through, emerging into a loading dock where early morning deliveries were being unloaded.
Workers barely glanced at me—just another person in the industrial area, unremarkable in jeans and a jacket I'd stolen from the laundry.
I pulled up the hood and walked toward the street, heart pounding, waiting for shouts or gunfire or Luca's security team to materialize from the shadows.
Nothing. Just the normal sounds of the city waking up.
A cab pulled to the curb three blocks later. I climbed in, gave the driver an address two blocks from Terminal B, and settled back with the stolen cash burning in my pocket.
I was free. Terrified. And walking straight into a trap.
But for the first time in nine weeks, I was making my own choice about my own survival.
The cab merged into morning traffic, carrying me toward whatever Giuseppe had planned. Toward answers about my father's condition. Toward a confrontation that would either give me the intelligence I needed or destroy everything Luca and I had been building.
My hand moved to my stomach again, a protective gesture that was becoming automatic.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the child growing inside me. "But I can't teach you to be brave if I'm not brave myself."
The city blurred past the window as we drove toward Terminal B, toward the truth, toward whatever came next.
Behind me, I knew Luca would be discovering my absence. His fury would be absolute. His fear, probably worse.
But I couldn't worry about that now.
I'd made my choice. And whatever happened next, it would be on my terms.