His greatest love.

Chapter 18.

The whiskey burned down Gio's throat, but it wasn't the drink that set fire to his veins.

It was her.

The doctor.

Her lips—soft, warm, tasting like something forbidden yet inevitable.

Her hands—delicate but unyielding, clutching him like she could anchor him to sanity.

The thought of Detective Santos touching her, having her whenever he wanted, burying himself inside her, and now... she was carrying his child—

Gio's jaw tightened until the glass in his hand cracked and shattered, whiskey spilling across the Persian rug.

Beside him, Cara stirred, lashes fluttering.

"Baby... are you okay?" Her voice was thick with sleep, innocence she didn't deserve.

He kept his eyes on the broken glass. "Yeah. Just work."

She slid closer, her hand grazing the muscles of his back. "Anything I can help you with?"

"No. I can handle it."

She was still half-curled under the silk sheets when she spoke, voice soft but prying.

"I heard you bought a restaurant."

He didn't glance at her. "Which one?"

"The Italian place."

"Yes."

"Why? It's not even your line of interest—"

His gaze finally cut to her, slow and deliberate. "Cara... choose your next words carefully."

Her spine stiffened. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't like being interrogated in my own bed."

"I'm not interrogating you, Gio. I'm asking why you're spending on irrelevant—"

He turned her, each word sharp enough to draw blood.

"You bought a Ferrari yesterday. You flew halfway across the world for a shopping spree. Every cent—my cent. And you dare question me about something I bought with my own money?"

She folded her arms, forcing a smirk. "We're a team. We should be discussing these things—"

"Discussing what?" He said coldly. "How you will spend my money, or how I will spend my money?"

Her voice rose. "Both! What you do now will affect our future, our children—"

He chuckled, low and dangerous. "Future? Children? You talk like a queen, Cara... but you're only sitting on the throne because I let you."

Her nostrils flared. "If we're going to be married, I should have a say in your decisions."

He leaned in close enough for her to feel the ice in his tone.

"We are not married. And the way you're performing tonight? I'm wondering if we ever should be."

Her hand snapped up to slap him, but he caught her wrist with brutal precision.

"I think you've forgotten who I am," he murmured darkly, squeezing just enough to make her eyes widen.

"You're hurting me!" she cried.

He shoved her back onto the mattress, letting her wrist drop like it was nothing.

"You're living on my name, my money, my patience. And patience... runs out."

She sat up, breathing hard, eyes glossy but burning. "You think throwing your weight around makes you right? You think because you pay for everything, you own me?"