Chapter 6
The two bodyguards stepped forward in perfect unison. They grabbed Julian by the arms of his tailored suit and hauled him roughly to his feet. Julian groaned, his head hanging loosely, blood dripping from his nose onto his crisp white shirt. They held him upright, forcing him to face Lorenzo.
Lorenzo walked slowly across the scattered magazines and paper cups. He stopped just inches from Julian’s bruised, bleeding face. The movie-star handsome features of the Mafia boss were set in stone. He looked at Julian not as a son-in-law, but as a puzzle that had just revealed a missing piece.
“You are arrogant, Julian,” Lorenzo said, spacing his words perfectly, keeping his volume barely above a whisper. “You are stupid. But you are not suicidal. You would not attempt to steal my blood in broad daylight just to appease your barren sister.”
Julian coughed, turning his head to spit a mouthful of blood onto the clean hospital floor. “It was… it was for Bianca,” he choked out, avoiding Lorenzo’s gaze.
“No,” Lorenzo said, his voice absolute and unyielding. “Bianca is a pawn. Victor is a fool. But you, Julian? You are a coward. And cowards only act boldly when they are terrified of someone else.”
Lorenzo reached out and grabbed Julian by the throat. He didn't squeeze hard enough to strangle the younger man, but the pressure was a stark, terrifying reminder of who held the power.
“One baby,” Lorenzo said, dead calm, his sharp eyes burning into Julian’s soul. “You were willing to risk my wrath for one baby. Now tell me who was waiting downstairs for him.”
The temperature in the bright room seemed to plummet. Julian’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. He instinctively, desperately, shifted his gaze sideways, looking directly at Bianca.
Lorenzo followed the look. He released Julian’s throat and turned slowly toward the thirty-three-year-old woman shivering against the wall.
“Bianca,” Lorenzo said, tasting the name. “Your brother just traded your life for his. How unfortunate.”
Bianca shook her head frantically, her rosy skin pale as a sheet. “No! No, Mr. Ravelli, I don't know what he’s talking about! I just wanted to be a mother! Julian promised me!”
“Julian promised you a child,” Lorenzo said, taking a slow step toward her. His polished shoes crunched over a plastic water bottle. “But the child was not meant to stay in your nursery, was it, Bianca? A Ravelli child is a highly valuable asset. A bargaining chip. A blood tie to the throne.”
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“Please,” Bianca sobbed, her expensive heels scraping against the floor as she tried to press herself further into the wall. “I swear, I was going to raise him! I was going to love him!”
“Who is downstairs, Bianca?” Lorenzo asked, his voice dropping even lower, vibrating with a lethal promise. “Give me the name, and you might walk out of this hospital on your own two feet.”
