The rain had been falling since dawn, soft at first, then angry, battering the mansion windows like a warning. Aria woke to the rhythmic sound, her hand instinctively moving to the gentle curve of her stomach. The baby shifted inside her, restless as if he too felt the tension brewing in the air. Luca wasn't in bed. She could tell from the cool side of the sheets and the faint scent of his cologne lingering on the pillow that he'd been gone for hours.
"Of course," she muttered softly, struggling to sit up. "Another day, another crisis."
Downstairs, she found him standing near the window, his phone pressed to his ear, voice low but sharp. The dark suit, the clenched jaw, the gun holstered at his side, Luciano Deluca the man she'd once called her captor, now the man she couldn't imagine her life without.
He turned when he heard her footsteps. "You should be resting."
