Diego’s POV

I was doing everything in my power to hold myself back from her.

From grabbing her by the waist, pinning her against the nearest wall, and reminding her exactly who the fuck she belonged to. She didn’t get it—hadn’t gotten it—from the second she stepped into my world, she’d stopped being her own.

She was chaos wrapped in curves—reckless, loud-mouthed, stunning. And far too fucking fragile to be playing games with someone like me.

But still, I didn’t move. I let her pace. Let her pretend she was in control—like she wasn’t one wrong word away from seeing exactly how far I’d go to keep what was mine. Even if it meant becoming the monster she already believed I was.

“Your mother’s at Kingsbridge Hospital,” I said coldly.

She froze, then scoffed. “Fantastic. Thanks for the update.”

She moved to pass me, but I stepped into her path. I stood silent, unyielding, eyes locked on hers with fire, while she glared back like she was ready for war.

“Did your brain short out, or should I tattoo it on your forehead? You don’t control me,” she snapped.

“Did you say that?”

“Diego.” She said my name like a curse and a prayer at once. Her voice cracked—just a little—but I caught it. And it wrecked me.

This version of her—shaken, vulnerable, unsure—was harder to face than any blade pressed to my throat.

“Look at you,” I murmured, stepping closer, my voice dropping. “You think you’re ready to face your mother like this? Blood on your thighs. That dress clinging like someone already tried to rip you apart. Do you even see yourself right now?”

She looked down. The dress was torn, blood streaked her thigh, and bruises marked her like war paint. She blinked, as if only now realizing what had happened.

“Crap,” she muttered. “There has to be something here I can borrow…”

“There is,” I said, nodding toward the door across the room. “Go clean up. I’ll find you something to wear.”

She hesitated.

“You’re not going to lock me in there, are you?”

Her voice was so small, so unlike her, it physically hurt to hear.

“No, Davina,” I said softly. “I’m not going to lock you in.”

But God, I wished I had it in me. Locking her away—protecting her from the hell outside and from me—would’ve made everything easier.

She nodded once and disappeared into the bathroom.

There was blood on the backs of her legs. Still, I watched her. Watched the way she walked like she wasn’t falling apart inside. Watched until the door closed behind her with a soft click that echoed louder than it should.

I stepped out of the room—and found Elena waiting just outside.

“What—?”

“You knocked up the wrong sister?” Her voice was sharp enough to cut steel. “How the ever-loving fuck did that happen?”

“I don’t have time for this.” I brushed past her. “Get me something Davina can wear.”

Elena didn’t move. That bulldog stubbornness took over—arms crossed, jaw tight. She wanted answers and she wanted them now. But she knew better. She might’ve been my sister, but this was not the time to test me.

After a long pause, she exhaled. “There’s a robe in the bathroom.”

“She’s not here for a spa day.” I turned my head slowly. “Something decent. She’ll be leaving the house.”

“You’re kidding.” Elena’s brows shot up. “You’re really going to take her out in public right now?”

“Of course not,” I snapped. “But she wants to see her mother.”

Elena stared at me. “And you’re letting her?”

I raked a hand through my hair. “The doctors don’t think she’ll make it to sunrise.”

Elena flinched, and the last of her fire faded like someone had pulled the plug. “Fuck. Does she know?”

“No. Not yet.”

She nodded once, all attitude drained. “I’ll get her something decent to wear.” Then she turned and headed upstairs, footsteps fading into silence.

I stayed where I was, just outside the bedroom, trying to get my head straight. Messages from Santo kept piling up, but I stared at my phone screen without reading a single one, when the bathroom door creaked open.

“When are those clothes coming?” Davina’s head popped out.

She was half-hidden by the door, her bare shoulder glistening with droplets of water, the towel clinging precariously to her hips. For a second, I forgot the war outside this room. All I saw was her. I wanted to touch her. Shield her. But all I did was clench my fists behind my back.

“Elena will bring them down momentarily.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I’m borrowing Elena’s clothes?”

“Unless you want to dress like one of the maids, that’s your only option.”

She let out a dry laugh, cheek pressing to the doorframe like the weight of the world had finally found her spine. “You know what’s funny? My sister and I used to—”

Then it hit her. You could see it in her eyes, in the way her voice cut off mid-sentence.

“Carlotta…” she whispered. “I haven’t even… fuck.” Her voice splintered. “What kind of sister forgets to ask if she’s even alive? Are she and my dad with my mom?”

She stepped out blindly—bare feet on the cold hardwood, towel slipping low. But the second she saw my face, she stopped short.

“They’re not with her, are they?”

I didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t.

Her breath caught. Her body swayed, like the truth had slammed into her chest. Her knees nearly buckled under the weight.

“No,” I said, my voice low.

For a second, she didn’t breathe. Her hand flew to her mouth. She turned, gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Then—”

“They’re not dead.” I stepped closer. “So don’t start falling apart on me.”

“Then don’t throw bombs and expect me to breathe through the fallout!” she snapped, voice fraying. “Where the hell are they?” she demanded, panic curdling into rage as she grabbed my arm. “Diego. Tell me.”

My jaw clenched. “The Milanesis have them.”

“Who the fuck are the Milanesis?”

“If you’d paid attention today—instead of storming off every five minutes—you’d know.”

Her hand twitched, torn between clawing my face and collapsing into my arms.

“Does this have something to do with the fact that you’re a… mafia don?”

“Don,” I corrected, jaw flexing. “But sure. Go ahead and water it down.”

“Mafia don, Don—same dirty crown, same blood-soaked throne,” she fired back. “So who the fuck are the Milanesis to you?”

“A rival mafia,” I said coolly, “whose Don has been obsessed with destroying the De Morrone name since the day I took power.”

“Why?” She blinked, stunned.

“Why?” I laughed once, low and humorless. “For power, Davina. What the fuck else do men like him ever want?”

“Jesus. Men.” She muttered, then straightened and looked me dead in the eyes. “You have to get them back.”

“Oh, brilliant strategy.” I rolled my eyes. “Shall I send a gift basket and ask politely?”

“Might work better than your usual strategy of blood and threats,” she shot back.

I stepped closer, jaw flexing. “Do you really think I’d sit on my hands while my enemies kidnapped my fiancée and did nothing? For fuck’s sake, trust that I’m not that weak.”

“Trust?” She barked a bitter laugh. “My sister trusted you. Look where that got her. You don’t want trust—you want submission dressed up as loyalty.”

My stare hardened. “And who exactly do you trust?”

“I trust my father. My mother. My sister,” she fired back without hesitation. “That’s it. And thanks to you, every single one of them is in danger.”

Her words were bullets. She didn’t stop.

“I had a bad feeling the second Carlotta mentioned you. She never even said your name, but I knew. I knew you were wrong for her. She’s a pacifist. A moral compass in a world full of filth. There’s no way she’d be with you if she knew who you really were.”

I took a step forward. Then another.

“What makes you so sure she didn’t?”

Davina scoffed, waving her hand in my face like I was poison. “Because she’s not stupid. Because she has a heart. Because she’d never marry a monster.”

I stopped just inches from her.

Her confidence faltered.

I pressed forward, slow and deliberate, backing her until her spine hit the doorframe. She stiffened. That fire in her eyes didn’t die—but her lip trembled like it was fighting the truth.

“You think you know her,” I murmured, voice like steel. “But maybe you don’t know your sister at all, Davina.”

Her name dripped off my tongue like a warning.

“She knew exactly who I was. Every sin. Every drop of blood. Every deal. Every kill. I told her the truth—and you know what she did?”

I leaned in, my breath hot against her cheek.

“She said yes. She agreed to marry me anyway.”

I tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. “And you’ll do the same—unless you want to be the reason your sister dies first.”