The envelope lay torn open on the kitchen island like a wound nobody wanted to touch. The photo stared up at me my imagined pregnant body wrapped in white silk, kneeling, collar tight, looking up at Kane’s shadowed face with something that looked dangerously close to devotion. I couldn’t stop looking at it. My thumb brushed the edge of the paper again and again until the ink started to smear under the sweat of my skin.
Matteo came up behind me first. He didn’t speak. He just reached around, plucked the photo from my fingers, and dropped it face down on the counter. Then he turned me to face him. His hands framed my face rough palms, gentle pressure.
“You don’t get to look at that,” he said quietly. “Not alone.”
I swallowed. “It’s just a picture.”
“It’s a threat,” Luca corrected from th
