The tension in the room was suffocating. Antonio loomed near the doorway, arms crossed, his presence as oppressive as ever. His sharp gaze fixated on you, studying you with that possessive, obsessive intensity that never wavered. He was always watching, always hovering, as if the mere act of blinking would allow you to disappear again.

Sienne barely spared him a glance. She was too busy fussing over you, her hands gentle but firm as she adjusted the pillow behind your back, ensuring you were comfortable. It was rare to see such tenderness in a DeLuca, rare for someone born into a world where cruelty was second nature. But Sienne wasn't her brothers. She never had been.

"Mio Dio, you should be resting," she tutted, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead as if checking for a fever. "Why are you even sitting like this? You need to elevate your feet. Antonio, vous n'êtes d'aucune aide, pourquoi êtes-vous ici?"

"She's fine."

Antonio's voice was flat, uninterested, but there was an underlying warning in his tone. Sienne knew it well—it was the same voice he used when underlings displeased him, when people forgot their place.

She ignored him.

"No, she is not fine, idiot," Sienne snapped, reaching for your hand, delicate in comparison to her own calloused fingers. "Vous devriez être heureux d'avoir une femme qui supporte toutes vos conneries. Elle porte votre enfant, vous devriez être plus prévenant."

Before you could respond, Antonio shifted closer. His mere presence was oppressive, and Sienne could feel his growing impatience, his need to control the situation.

"Enough, Sienne. Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?"

His voice was calm, but that meant nothing. Antonio was always calm. He never raised his voice. He never let himself crack. But that didn't mean he wasn't simmering beneath the surface, his obsessive need to have things exactly the way he wanted clawing at him.

Sienne's lip curled as she turned to face him fully.

"Vattene," she said, tone dripping with irritation. "Stiamo passando una giornata senza di te. Non la possiedi Antonio, sei così fastidioso, vai a masturbarti da qualche parte."

His jaw tightened, his fingers curling into his palms.

"She is mine." His words were measured, dangerously low. "You forget yourself, sorella."

Sienne barked out a laugh.

"Oh, fratellone," she mocked, mock-sweet, her dark eyes flashing. "I forget nothing. I know exactly who you are. I know exactly what you are. And I know you think you own everything you touch. But not her."

She turned back to you, waving a dismissive hand toward her brother as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience.

Sienne had spent her entire life surrounded by men like Antonio. He was nothing new. Nothing surprising. She had been raised under the same roof as him, under the same brutal expectations, the same suffocating control—though her cage had been different.

Unlike her brothers, trained as soldiers with blood on their hands before they were teenagers, Sienne was kept pristine, untouched by the blood of their family name. But a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded.

The men had whispered about her for as long as she could remember—"Jailbait," they sneered behind her back. A prize to be claimed. A trophy to be defiled. She learned young what kind of power men had, what cruelty they were capable of. She learned the worst of it when it happened to her. Twice.

The first time, she went to Antonio and Eliseo in tears. That was one of the only times she ever saw them work together, side by side, without anger or rivalry. They hunted him down, left his body somewhere it would never be found. That was when Sienne understood the kind of men her brothers were, that her only protection came at a cost.

But she wasn't that girl anymore. She wasn't naive or waiting for someone to save her. And she wouldn't let Antonio treat you like some fragile possession.

"Ignore him, tesoro," she said, switching to English so you would understand. Her tone transformed instantly, all warmth and affection, her sharp edges smoothed over when speaking to the only true friend she had ever had.

"I swear, my brothers think women are incapable of doing anything on their own." She shot Antonio a glare. "Like we're some fragile little things that will break if we so much as breathe too hard."

Antonio scoffed but said nothing.

Sienne rolled her eyes and turned her full attention back to you.

She had never had a sister or a friend. Her world had been brothers, guards, and watchful eyes. No one who truly cared. No one who saw her as more than an extension of the DeLuca name.

But you? You were the closest thing she had ever known to something real.

That was why she refused to let Antonio's overbearing nature ruin this.

"I am not letting you lift a damn finger today," she said, squeezing your hand. "You're staying right here, and I am going to make sure you have everything you could possibly need."

Antonio exhaled sharply, clearly at the end of his patience. "She is my wife, Sienne. Posso prendermi cura di lei benissimo, non sei necessario."

"Stai zitto, vai via stupido." Sienne shot back. "Let me take care of her the way she deserves, without your culo stupido lingering and being annoying."

Antonio stared at her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. And then, with a slow exhale, he turned on his heel and left.

Sienne grinned, triumphant, before turning back to you with sparkling eyes.

"Finally," she said, mock-exasperated. "I swear, he's like a disease. Always lingering, always controlling." She squeezed your hand. "How do you put up with that stronzo every day?"

"Now, let's get back to you. And before you even think about it—no, you're not going anywhere. You are staying inside where I can dote on you properly."

She leaned in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "And if Antonio tries to interfere, I'll break his nose." She winked, her expression playful but entirely serious.