CHAPTER 101: THE SILENT MORNING AFTER

The morning light over the DeLuca estate was pale and reluctant, as if even the sun hesitated to rise over a house that had not yet recovered from the night before. The glass windows overlooking the courtyard glowed faintly, but the warmth did not reach inside. The estate felt colder now. Heavier. Like the walls themselves were bracing for whatever came next.

Aria awoke alone.

The other side of the bed was cold, untouched. Luca had not slept beside her. The sheets were perfectly smooth, without even the faintest impression of his body. It made her chest tighten. She knew what that meant. He had not slept at all. Or if he had, it was in his office, slumped over paperwork or maps or the ghosts of decisions he could no longer reverse.

She sat up slowly, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach. A protective gesture she had adopted without thinking. Her secret. Their child. She wondered how she would tell him. She wondered if this morning was too heavy for such a truth or if waiting would create its own kind of damage.

She exhaled, pushing the thought away for now. There would be a moment, she told herself. There had to be.

Aria moved through the quiet rooms, slipping into a soft blouse and trousers, her hands shaking slightly as she tied her hair back. The hallways were hushed but not empty. She could feel the shift in the atmosphere. Guards patrolled with rigid precision. Staff members whispered as she passed. The DeLuca empire was awake, but it was not at peace.

When she reached the main floor, she saw Eli standing near the double doors that led to Luca’s office. His arms were crossed, his posture tense. He straightened the moment he saw her.

"Good morning, Signora," he said.

She could hear the strain behind the politeness.

"Has he eaten?" she asked.

Eli hesitated. "I do not think so."

"And how long has he been in there?"

"Since before sunrise. Possibly since last night."

Of course. Exactly what she feared. She nodded and stepped toward the doors, but Eli moved slightly, almost instinctively.

"Signora," he said carefully, "he is in a mood this morning."

Aria’s eyes softened, though her voice remained steady. "I know. But he is still my husband."

Eli lowered his gaze and stepped aside.

Aria pushed the doors open.

Luca’s office was a storm in progress.

Maps lay scattered across the desk. Files stacked high. Weapons disassembled and meticulously cleaned on a velvet cloth. Three men stood by the far wall, their posture stiff and deferential. The air hummed with tension.

And Luca was in the center of it all.

He stood behind his desk wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was tousled, not from sleep but from running his hands through it over and over. His eyes were sharp, but the exhaustion beneath them was undeniable. His jaw was set, his movements precise, every motion controlled as if he feared that one lapse would let grief swallow him whole.

He did not notice her at first.

"Tell me again," Luca said to the men in front of him. "Slowly this time."

The oldest man swallowed. "We recovered the vehicles you used last night. The explosion came from beneath the dock, not inside the shipment as we assumed."

"So someone planted it before we arrived." Luca’s tone was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came with cold anger.

"Yes, Don."

"And the body count?"

"Six of ours. Three of theirs. Matteo’s men scattered before we arrived at the site. We are still identifying who escaped."

Luca’s eyes darkened. "Find them."

"We will, Don."

Aria stepped closer. "Luca."

His head turned instantly, his gaze locking onto her. He did not soften. But something shifted. A flicker of awareness. A silent acknowledgment.

The other men bowed quickly and excused themselves, leaving the two of them alone.

When the door shut, Aria let out a slow breath.

"You did not sleep," she said.

"I did not have time." Luca went back to reviewing a file, refusing to meet her eyes fully. "There is too much to handle."

"There is always too much to handle," she replied gently. "You still need rest."

"I need answers more than rest."

She moved closer. "Luca."

He looked up finally.

And she saw it.

The grief he tried so hard to bury. The guilt he carried like a second spine. The cold calculation of a man preparing to face an enemy who had slipped through his fingers too many times.

He looked away first.

Aria circled the desk slowly, stopping in front of him. She rested her hand on the papers he was trying to pretend mattered more than his own broken state.

"You cannot rebuild the world in one morning," she said softly. "You cannot carry this alone."

"I do not have a choice," Luca replied. "Matteo may be gone, but the damage is not."

She felt those words like a bruise.

"Your men are shaken," he added. "The families are whispering again. And the council waits for blood or reassurance. I have to decide which one they deserve."

Aria shook her head. "Not like this. Not while you are running on fear and grief."

Luca stepped back from her touch, pacing slowly around the room.

"I cannot show weakness," he said.

"That is not weakness," she countered. "That is being human."

He stopped walking.

His eyes landed on her stomach again, just for a second. It made her heart race. She wondered if he had begun to sense the truth. She wondered if he was pushing himself harder because some part of him already understood he was fighting for more than just a title now.

"Aria," he said quietly, "there is something you should know."

Her breath caught. "What is it?"

He hesitated for the briefest moment, then sat down at the edge of the desk.

"We found something in Matteo’s belongings last night." His voice grew lower. "A list. Names. People from inside my own house who helped him."

Aria stepped closer. "Who?"

Luca exhaled slowly. "Not yet confirmed. But if this is true, then the betrayal is deeper than I thought."

Her chest tightened.

He rubbed his forehead, looking suddenly older in the morning light. The lines around his eyes seemed sharper. His shoulders heavier. For a moment, Aria saw not the Don but the man beneath, someone who carried far too many ghosts and far too many expectations.

"I cannot afford to make the wrong move," he said. "Not now."

Aria approached him gently, placing a hand on his arm. "Then let me help you."

Luca’s gaze drifted to her hand on his skin. He turned his palm upward, threading his fingers through hers.

"You should not be in this room," he said softly. "Not this morning."

"I am your wife," she replied. "There is no room I should not enter."

His grip tightened.

"You make it harder," he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

He lifted his other hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb across her skin.

"Every time I look at you," he said, "I remember what is at stake. And that makes me reckless."

Aria’s breath caught. This was the vulnerability he revealed only in pieces, the raw edge beneath the steel. She cupped his hand and pressed her cheek into his palm.

"You are allowed to be reckless for the right reasons," she said. "You just cannot let fear guide you."

He leaned forward until his forehead touched hers, his voice low and fragile.

"I cannot lose you," he said. "Not to my enemies. Not to my decisions. Not to this life."

"You have not lost me," she whispered.

"Not yet," he said. "But the storm is coming again."

She rested both hands against his chest, feeling the steady but heavy beat of his heart.

"Then we face it together," she said.

He closed his eyes.

For a moment, they stayed like that. Two broken edges pressed together, hoping they could form something whole.

A knock came at the door.

Luca tensed instantly.

"Don," Nico’s voice called from the other side. "The council is ready for you."

Luca’s jaw hardened again. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable. The grieving man faded, replaced by the Don. The leader. The storm that others feared to provoke.

He stood tall, straightening his shirt.

Aria stepped back slightly, watching him reclaim the armor that had kept him alive for years. His movements became sharper. His eyes colder. Every inch of him once again belonged to the world outside this room.

Luca looked at her one last time.

"Stay close today," he said quietly.

"I will."

He offered his hand. She took it.

Together, they walked toward the council chamber, where the next phase of their empire would begin.

With enemies waiting.

With allies uncertain.

With a child growing inside her.

And with a man who had already lost too much.

The morning had begun.

But the war had not ended.