Page 116 of Savage Devotion

"Who wrote these words?" I ask softly.

"Luca, of course," he replies, voice rough and tainted with bitterness. "He designed the memorial. Comes every year to replace the candles, leave fresh flowers."

"Is Nico here yet?" I ask, scanning the empty cathedral.

"He'll arrive separately," Dante replies, rising to his feet. "I granted him a few hours to compose himself after yesterday's...negotiationwith me."

The edge in his voice suggests the conversation with his younger brother yesterday involved more than the verbal agreement described to me. But before I can question further, a subtle shift in the cathedral's atmosphere draws our attention to the main entrance.

Luca Ravelli stands in the arched doorway, silhouetted against the outside light.

He's dressed entirely in black, as immaculate as ever despite the circumstances. His presence stretches across stone floors like a dark promise… or perhaps a warning.

My breath catches at the sight of the woman beside him.

Bianca, her pregnancy unmistakable now. Her belly strains against the black dress she wears, one hand resting beneath the swell where the next Ravelli heir grows.

Her face is paler than I remember from Paris, dark circles beneath her eyes betraying the strain of a difficult pregnancy.

Dante stiffens beside me, his body coiling with the instinctive tension of a predator sensing another of its kind.

"Stay close," he whispers, placing himself before me as the couple approaches. "No matter what happens."

Luca's dark, careful gaze finds us immediately, his face betraying minimal surprise at finding his estranged brother already in attendance.

Beside him, Bianca's steps seem carefully taken, her movements cautious as if any sudden motion might upset a precarious balance.

"Dante," Luca acknowledges when they draw near. "I didn't expect he would convince you to come."

"Luca," Dante returns with equal coldness. "Some occasions transcend our differences. I trust for at least an hour, we can exist in the same room."

Luca's attention shifts to me, holding the look of a man who sees chess pieces rather than people. Almost like his father would have.

"Ms. Castellano. Or should I say, Mrs. Ravelli? Condolences on your father's passing."

"Thank you," I reply, voice carefully neutral. "And congratulations on your impending arrival."

Bianca's hand presses more firmly against her belly at my words, her expression a complex mixture of pride and wariness. When she speaks, her voice is softer than I expected. "Elena would have loved being a grandmother."

The simple statement, dropped so elegantly yet filled with layers, lands like a grenade in the tense space between the brothers.

For a moment, I see grief flash across Dante's face. It's a sign of grief for what might have been in another life… in another world. For the family they could have been if Vito hadn't poisoned the very soil they grew from.

"Yes," Dante agrees unexpectedly. "She would have."

Luca studies him, surprise evident in the subtle lift of his eyebrows. "You've never come before."

"I carry her memory in my own way," Dante replies. "Not all mourning requires an audience."

Bianca shifts uncomfortably, one hand moving to her lower back as she winces again. The motion doesn't escape my notice, nor Dante's. She's uncomfortable, and if what Dante was saying last night is true, this might be the first time she's been out of bedrest in weeks.

"Perhaps we should begin," I suggest, sensing the fragility of this momentary peace. I glance around the cathedral's vast space, noting Nico's absence. "Should we wait for-"

"He'll come," Dante interrupts, his voice carrying an edge of certainty that makes me wonder what exactly transpired in that wine cellar conversation.

Another wince from Bianca draws my attention. She's shifting her weight constantly now, clearly struggling to remain standing. The proud tilt of her chin suggests she won't admit to any weakness, but her body betrays her.

I think about Dante's words, about his warning that the baby can't be born before… before…

---