Chapter 16
Sienna
The underground apartment had never felt so much like a tomb.
I paced the living room for the hundredth time, my fingers unconsciously twisting Luca's mother's ring—still warm from when he'd slid it onto my finger an hour ago.
The diamond caught the artificial light from the screens, throwing tiny rainbows across the walls that felt obscenely cheerful given the circumstances.
I choose you.
His words echoed in my mind, along with the fierce intensity in his eyes when he'd said them. For the first time since our forced marriage, Luca Romano had chosen me not because of strategy or political advantage, but because he couldn't imagine his life without me.
And now he was out there, executing some elaborate plan to end Giuseppe and Ricci permanently. A plan that could get him killed.
"Mrs. Romano, you should sit down." Angelo's voice was gentle but firm from his position by the security monitors. "The stress isn't good for the baby."
I pressed my hand to my stomach—nine weeks pregnant, though still not showing. "I can't just sit here doing nothing while he's—" My voice cracked. "What if something goes wrong?"
"Boss has never lost a strategic engagement," Angelo said with a confidence I desperately wanted to share.
"There's a first time for everything." I resumed pacing, unable to stay still. "Can you at least tell me what's happening? Where he is?"
Angelo's expression became carefully neutral. "Phase one is complete. Giuseppe has been secured at the Queens location with zero casualties on our side."
"And Phase two?"
"In progress."
The clipped answer told me everything—he knew something but wasn't telling me. The old pattern. Men making decisions about what information I could handle, protecting me by keeping me ignorant.
"That's it? 'In progress'?" Frustration sharpened my voice. "My husband is out there risking his life and all you can tell me is 'in progress'?"
"Those are my orders, ma'am. Boss was very specific—"
"Of course he was." I laughed bitterly. "Even now, even after everything, he's still controlling the narrative. Still deciding what I get to know."
Angelo's jaw tightened. "With respect, Mrs. Romano, he's trying to protect you. Knowing the details won't change the outcome. It'll only make the waiting harder."
He was right. I hated that he was right.
I sank onto the couch, wrapping my arms around myself. The apartment was climate-controlled, perfectly comfortable, but I felt cold down to my bones. Fear had a way of doing that—making you feel the chill no amount of heat could touch.
"When did you know?" I asked suddenly, needing a distraction from my spiraling thoughts.
Angelo looked up from his monitors. "Know what, ma'am?"
"That you'd found something worth dying for. Someone worth dying for."
His expression softened. "My wife, Maria.
She's home with our daughter right now, probably worried sick because I can't tell her where I am or when I'll be back.
" He pulled out his phone, showing me a photo—a woman with kind eyes and a little girl with dark curls.
"This is what I fight for. What makes the risk worth it. "
"You're lucky," I said quietly.
"I know. Eight years married, and every day I'm grateful the boss understands that some nights I need to be home for dinner, not in a warehouse with a gun.
" He met my gaze. "What you and the boss have—it's rare in our world.
Most marriages are arrangements, transactions.
What you two found despite the circumstances. .. that's worth protecting."
"He only married me because of the alliance. Because of strategy."
"Maybe at first. But I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not watching. The way he says your name." Angelo smiled slightly. "That's not strategy, Mrs. Romano. That's a man who's terrified of what he feels."
My throat tightened with emotion. "What if he doesn't come back?"
"He will. Because he has something to come back to now."
I wanted to believe that. Wanted to trust that Luca's choice—choosing me over his empire—would somehow protect him from the bullets and violence waiting in the dark. But the world didn't work that way. Love didn't make you bulletproof.
My mother had loved my father. It hadn't stopped the crossfire that killed her when I was twelve.
Minutes crawled by like hours. I tried sitting. Tried reading the book Luca had given me days ago. Tried focusing on anything except the gnawing fear that he might not come back.
The artificial daylight from the screens slowly shifted toward evening, the algorithm mimicking the passage of time above ground. How long had it been? An hour? Two?
"Any updates?" I asked for the tenth time.
"Still in progress, ma'am."
I wanted to scream. Instead, I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to breathe through the anxiety crushing my chest.
This was what it meant to love someone in this world. Constant fear. The knowledge that any goodbye could be the last. The helplessness of waiting while they walked into danger.
My father had subjected my mother to this. Had left her at home, pregnant with my younger sister Isabella, while he conducted his business. Had expected her to smile and wait and never question where he went or what he did.
She'd loved him anyway. Despite everything. Despite the fear.
I'd sworn I'd never be that woman. Never love someone whose world demanded I live in constant terror of losing them. Yet here I was, wearing Luca's mother's ring. Carrying his child. Pacing an underground apartment while he faced death for me.
And I wouldn't change it. Wouldn't go back. Wouldn't choose safety over this terrifying, consuming love.
When had that happened? When had I stopped hating Luca Romano and started needing him like air?
Maybe it was the moment he'd knelt before me, pressing his forehead to my stomach and promising to protect our child.
Or the night in the private lounge when he'd danced with me, sharing pieces of his past he'd buried deep.
Or every small gift left on the counter, every gesture that said I see you, I know you, I care.
Or maybe it was tonight, when he'd looked me in the eye and said I choose you like it was the easiest decision he'd ever made.
Love.
The realization settled over me with absolute clarity. I loved him. Completely. Terrifyingly. In a way that made tonight's waiting unbearable because I finally understood what I stood to lose.
My chest tightened. The walls of the apartment seemed to close in, the recycled air suddenly not enough. I tried to breathe deeper but couldn't seem to get air into my lungs.
What if he didn't come back? What if I'd just realized I loved him only to lose him in the same night? What if our child grew up without a father because I'd been too stubborn, too proud, had pushed him into making impossible choices—
My vision blurred at the edges. The room tilted.
"Mrs. Romano?" Angelo was suddenly beside me, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. "You need to sit down. Now."
He guided me to the couch. I couldn't seem to catch my breath, each inhale short and sharp.
"Breathe slowly," Angelo instructed, his voice calm but firm. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You're having a panic attack. The baby needs you to calm down."
"I can't—" The words came out choked. "What if he—"
"He's coming back." Angelo's certainty cut through my spiraling thoughts. "But right now, I need you to focus on breathing. Can you do that for me?"
I nodded, forcing myself to follow his instructions. Slow breath in. Slower breath out. Again. Again.
Gradually, the vice around my chest loosened. The room stopped spinning. My heartbeat slowed from its frantic gallop.
"Better?" Angelo asked.
I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling guilty for letting my stress affect our child. "I'm trying. But not knowing—" My voice broke. "It's killing me, Angelo. Not knowing if he's alive or hurt or—"
"He's alive." Angelo's certainty was absolute. "If something had gone wrong, I'd have been notified immediately. No news is good news in our line of work."
No news is good news. What a horrifying philosophy to live by.
I moved to the artificial windows, staring at the screen-generated city view. Somewhere out there, beyond these walls, Luca was fighting for us. For our future. For the life we were just beginning to build.
And I could do nothing but wait.
The helplessness was suffocating. All my life, I'd fought against being powerless—against my father's control, against arranged marriages, against being treated like property to be traded. Tonight, I'd made my own choice. I'd chosen Luca, chosen this life, chosen to stand by him.
But standing by him apparently meant standing still while he faced danger alone.
My phone sat on the coffee table, silent and mocking. I picked it up, checking for the hundredth time that the volume was on, that I hadn't missed a message, that the battery was charged.
Nothing.
"How much longer?" I asked, hearing the desperation in my own voice.
Angelo checked his watch, but said nothing. The silence stretched, oppressive and suffocating.
More minutes crawled by. Five. Ten. Twenty. Each one heavier than the last.
I couldn't take it anymore. "How long does phase two usually take?"
"Every operation is different, ma'am."
Non-answer. Everything was a non-answer.
I sank onto the couch, wrapping my arms around myself. My phone sat on the coffee table, silent. Mocking.
The waiting was unbearable. Not knowing if Luca was alive or hurt or fighting for his life.
But even terrified, even powerless, I wouldn't take it back.
Because somewhere between hating Luca Romano and sitting here wearing his mother's ring, I'd fallen completely in love with him.
Not because he was powerful or dangerous or strategic, but because underneath all that cold calculation was a man who'd knelt before me and promised to protect our child.
What if Luca didn't come back? What if Giuseppe won? Isabella would have no one. She'd become exactly what I'd tried to prevent—another pawn in the family game, married off, controlled, her choices stolen.
I'd promised her. Promised she'd be different. That she'd get to choose her own path.
And I was failing her.
My hand moved to my stomach, where our child grew—invisible but undeniable. This baby would be born into violence and power, would carry the weight of two criminal empires before taking their first breath.
But they'd also be born into love. That much, at least, I could give them.
"Mrs. Romano?" Angelo's voice was gentle. "You should try to rest. It could be a while longer."
"I can't rest. Not until I know he's safe."
Angelo nodded, understanding. He'd lived through this himself—the agonizing wait while someone you loved walked into danger.
So I waited. And waited. And prayed to a God I wasn't sure was listening that Luca Romano would come back to me.
Because I'd finally found something worth fighting for.
And I refused to lose it now.