Page 120 of Crown of Blood

I turn to the first entry, dated three months before Luca was born.

"I feel him moving inside me… this boy who will one day inherit his father's crown. If only one thing, I pray he inherits my heart. In this world of blood and shadow, he will need both strength and compassion to survive. To rule. To become the man I dream he can be."

I flip forward, scanning entries that chronicle Luca's early years—his first steps, his first words, moments of ordinary motherhood preserved in extraordinary circumstances.

Then, near the end, an entry dated just weeks before her death:

"What I do now, I do for my sons. For Luca especially, for he is so sensitive beneath the armor Vito forces upon him. I will protect him at any cost, even from his father's legacy. Even if that protection costs me everything. I know the risks. I accept them. In my time on God's earth, I have grown to know that a mother's love is the most dangerous force in this world… More lethal than any weapon, more binding than any oath. I only hope one day he finds someone who loves him with the same ferocity. Someone who will protect him when I no longer can."

The words blur through my tears. I close the journal, holding it against my chest like a talisman.

"She knew," I whisper. "She knew what might happen."

Luca's arms tighten around me. "Of course she did."

"And now I understand too." I turn in his lap to face him, one hand cupping his cheek. "What it means to protect someone at any cost. To become something dangerous for the sake of love."

His eyes darken with emotion as he covers my hand with his. "Yes."

In this moment, I feel a kinship with Elena Ravelli that transcends time and blood. A shared understanding of what it means to love a man shaped by violence, to carry his child, to kill for his protection.

To become reborn as something both terrifying and magnificent.

As I lean forward to press my lips to Luca's, I silently promise both him and the child growing inside me that I will be worthy of the legacy Elena left behind. That I will protect what's mine with the same fierce devotion.

Even if it means pulling the trigger again.

And again.

And again.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Luca

Theheavysignetringweighs on my finger as I settle into my father's chair at the head of his office. I stare at the Ravelli crest etched in gold, remembering how I removed it from Vito's cold hand just hours ago as he lay in his casket, his bullet wound artfully concealed by morticians paid handsomely for their discretion.

The funeral had been brief. Private. Attended only by those who needed to witness the transition of power, rather than those who might genuinely mourn.

Nico stood silent beside me, his face a careful balance of grief and honor to the new regime. Bianca behind us both, draped in black and gold, one hand resting protectively over our unborn child.

And then there was Dante's absence… a wound bleeding silently into the room, speaking volumes about the betrayal that now demands retribution.

I trace the ring with my thumb, feeling how quickly it has warmed against my skin, as if it has been waiting for me all along.

Vito's office bears subtle traces of violence despite the meticulous cleaning I've ordered throughout the mansion over the past few days.

A dark patch on the Persian rug remains, most likely where a body once bled out at the hands of my father. His ghostly presence still hovering in corners the cleaners couldn't reach, but in time, everything cold reminder of his power will disappear.

For now, the changes are subtle. The heavy oak desk before me won't disappear. Not the portraits of dead Ravellis watching from gilded frames, judging each generation that follows with eternal, painted scrutiny.

Not yet.

To change too quickly would suggest weakness. Uncertainty. A Don assumes control with the certainty of a river claiming its path to the sea—inevitable, unstoppable, carving through anything that dares resist.

My men file into the office precisely on time, each dressed in black, funeral solemnity extending into this first official meeting of the new regime.

Salvatore Moretti, who will now control our shipping interests, enters first.

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