Giovanni stood in the shadow of the doorframe, his shoulder leaning against the wood.

He looked exhausted, his dark hair slightly damp from the rain outside, his tie loosened at his collar.

“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.

“Long enough to see you looking at the ghost of my family,” he said.

He walked into the room, his footsteps silent on the thick Persian rug.

He stopped on the other side of the desk, his eyes fixing on the papers in my hand.

“Why did you do this, Giovanni?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“You know why,” he said.

“I don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You fought for years to secure those docks. You told me they were the foundation of everything.”

“They were the foundation of a cage,” he said.

He reached out, his hand hovering over the desk before he pulled it back.

“I realized that the moment you told me you were pregnant,” he said. “I looked at the life I had built, and I saw a target on my back. A target that would eventually cover you and Luca.”