“I won’t apologize.”

“Fine, but I’m so fucking tired of the tense mood that’s been dragging us down. Not just you and Aria, but Gianna and Liliana, and me and Romero. It’s annoying as fuck, and it’s going to bring us all down. If you are certain that you won’t apologize to Aria for accusing her of cheating and for giving her the cold shoulder, then at least end it for good. You’ve changed so much already in the Famiglia. Make a difference and file for a divorce, then you can return to fucking your way through New York’s it-girls and Aria can find a nice guy to marry.”

“No!” I growled. “Aria is mine. I’ll kill every fucker who dares to touch her. There won’t be a fucking divorce. Ever. And I don’t want to fuck anyone…”

“But her,” Matteo finished. He shrugged. “Then your balls are going to turn blue and fall off, because I don’t think Aria will make the first move again.”

chapter 22

ARIA

It was already late in the morning. I hadn’t slept most of the night because I’d felt sick but also too exhausted to get out of bed. Turning around, my eyes found the empty space beside me in bed. My fingers traced the soft fabric. I still fell asleep on my side of the bed and always woke half on Luca’s empty one, as if my body tried to seek him out at night. Eight weeks of lonely nights.

I put on the loose silk bathrobe that hid my bump and made my way out of the bedroom with bare feet. The house was quiet, but distantly I heard the rumble of deep voices.

I was surprised to find Luca and Matteo still at the breakfast table. Their plates were covered in crumbs, but they were done eating and caught in an argument from the look of it. Another plate was also covered in crumbs, but Gianna had already made her exit. She and Luca in a room, that didn’t last long. She was probably in the gym. Lily and Romero had left for New York yesterday morning.

Both men looked up at me. I didn’t say anything, didn’t meet either of their gazes. I was too tired to deal with my feelings. Swallowing my nausea, I reached for the thermos with fruit tea that Marianna always prepared for me, and put it in a cup. I drank a sip of the hot fruit tea, not sitting down. I couldn’t stomach anything else in the morning right now, and I didn’t want to risk sitting down lest I had to run to the bathroom.

Luca was watching me, his eyes lingering on my cheekbones, then my collarbones. I knew he could see my bones protruding sharply. The bathrobe couldn’t hide every part of me. I’d lost even more weight in the last two weeks. I was starting to get worried about the baby, but I just couldn’t keep food inside. I took another sip of the tea, one hand clutching the edge of the table to steady myself. Mornings were always the worst.

“You should sit down,” Matteo suggested, and his voice made me look up because it held worry.

Luca rose from his chair, took the basket with Danishes and held it out toward me. He wasn’t close, never close anymore. “Marianna got your favorite almond biscotti. You need to eat.”

His gray eyes were softer than I’d seen them in a long time, but I had given up hoping.

I stared down at the baked goods and felt my stomach turning over. I looked back up. His eyes were desperate. “Aria, please,” he added. He almost never said “please,” especially not in front of others, not even Matteo. A violent wave of sickness gripped me. I shook my head, fighting the nausea.

“I can’t,” I got out, then turned around and walked slowly back upstairs. Running would have made me throw up. I was glad that Luca didn’t follow me anymore. It made this easier.

I threw up what little I still had in my stomach, then I brushed my teeth in a daze and washed myself with a cloth. Dizzy like this I couldn’t risk going into the shower.

I walked back into the bedroom and undressed, then turned around to face the floor-length mirror.

“What are you doing to me?” I whispered affectionately. Fourteen weeks. I cupped my bump. Naked like this, there was no mistaking that I was pregnant. I turned, facing the mirror sideways. A baby. I stroked my bump lightly, wishing it was Luca’s hands, needing his touch and love so much it hurt.

The door to the bedroom opened. “Aria.” It was Luca.

I whirled around, away from the mirror, and rushed toward the clothes stand where I’d left my bathrobe. I ripped it off and made the whole thing topple over. I flinched as it hit the ground before my feet, then quickly clutched the bathrobe to my naked front.

Luca stood frozen in the room, his eyes moving from the clothes rack to me clutching the bathrobe like it was my salvation.

Regret flickered on his face, but I didn’t dare hope. “Aria, are you scared of me?” he asked quietly.

Was I? I regarded Luca. I had been occasionally in the days after he’d thought I’d cheated, but not anymore. He hadn’t hurt me when he’d thought I’d betrayed him in the worst way possible. He would never hurt me.

“No,” I said with conviction.

He moved toward me, movements slow and careful as not to startle me as he picked up the rack and straightened it. He looked into my eyes and the emotion in his tugged at my heartstrings. “I don’t care about pain. I can deal with torture. But when I saw you with Dante, and thought that you…” He trailed off, face twisting with agony. “I wanted to kill you, and I wanted to kill myself because I knew I was too weak to do it.”

What a logic.

“I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t trust me. But Luca, I love you. I would never let another man touch me, never betray you like that. Never.”

“I know,” he said quietly. He still didn’t bridge the remaining distance between us. Perhaps because I was still shielding myself with the bathrobe as if I was scared of what he’d do with my nakedness.

“You still love me?” he asked, his expression unguarded. He wasn’t Capo in that moment; he was my husband, the man I loved and who loved me in turn.

“Of course,” I said. I didn’t think I could stop loving him. “And you? Do you love me?”

He laughed, a dark, raw sound. And he took a step closer, but then stopped himself. “I love you too much. It’s fucking painful. It’s killing me every second I’m not with you, every second of having to pretend that I don’t love you. I hate to see you being sick because of me.”

“I’m not sick,” I protested.

He gestured at my collarbones. “You have lost so much weight, Aria. I’m not blind.”

I shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Forgive me,” he got out. My eyes widened. He had never said those words before. A Capo doesn’t ask for forgiveness, nor grant it. That was one of his father’s lessons he had taken to heart.

His eyes weren’t cold or hard or wary. He let me in. He was back. My Luca was back. I started crying. And he bridged the remaining distance. “Aria?”

I peered up at him, at the pained look. “Of course, I forgive you, if you forgive me too.”

“How could I not forgive you?” He cupped my cheeks. “I love you.” He bent down and kissed me softly. I had been drowning and he was my air. He was my life, my love, my everything. His kiss was sweet. No possessiveness, only love. I parted my lips and his tongue tasted me. I’d missed this. I’d missed him.