"Because Leo is running out of time to course-correct, and I'm running out of patience watching him waste it." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "He's burning through money, through alliances, through goodwill that took me decades to build. Two months ago he nearly started a war with the Serbians over a poker debt. Apoker debt, Luca. He's twenty-six years old and still playing at being dangerous without understanding what danger actually costs."
Luca says nothing. He knows about the Serbians.
"A wife grounds a man," I continue. "Not just the companionship — the accountability. When you have someone at home who depends on you, you start making different calculations. You stop being reckless because reckless means you might not come back." I pause. "God knows I would have benefited from that lesson at his age."
"You think a woman is going to fix Leo?"
"I think therightwoman will make him want to fix himself. There's a difference." I set down the whiskey. "And there's the other thing. You and I have been brothers in everything but name for thirty years. After Istanbul, after everything — our families should be bound officially. It protects us both. Any man who wants to move against the Santegos has to calculate the Luca family into that equation, and vice versa."
"And what do you get out of it?"
I think of seven years inside. Of all the things I missed. Of Leo, unsupervised and increasingly stupid. "A son who might finally grow the fuck up. And the knowledge that the alliance I built my life around is permanent."
Luca's quiet for a long time. Then: "My daughter's pregnant."
The words hit like a punch.
"What?"
"She came home from university pregnant. Said she doesn’t know who the father is." His voice is tight, controlled fury. "I sent her to the countryside estate. She's in exile until the baby's born."
Pregnant.
His daughter. The one he mentioned in letters, the one he was so proud of. Smart, educated, studying accounting.
"That changes things," Luca continues. "She's damaged goods now. I was going to arrange a marriage eventually, but this complicates it. Most men won't want—"
"I don't care." The words come out before I can stop them.
Luca blinks. "You don't care that she's pregnant with another man's child?"
"We're not living in the Dark Ages, Luca. She's your daughter. She's educated. In our world, marriage is about alliance, not purity." I lean forward. "Leo's not exactly a prize. If anything, a woman who's already proven she can have children is valuable."
Luca studies me for a long moment. Then he nods slowly.
"You'd take her? Pregnant, disgraced, exiled?"
"I'd take her."
"And Leo? He's okay with this?"
I nearly laugh. "Leo will do what I tell him to do. He doesn't get a choice."
"She's not going to like this."
"She'll adjust." I take the whiskey glass. "They both will."
Luca raises his glass. "To family. And the alliances that bind us."
"To family."
We drink.
But as the whiskey burns down my throat, something sits wrong in my chest.
I run through the logic the way I always do after a decision — checking for weak points, for angles I haven't considered. The arrangement makes sense. Leo needs structure. Luca needs an alliance that has teeth. His daughter is educated, capable, from the right bloodline. The pregnancy is an inconvenience, not a dealbreaker, not in this world. I've seen men take worse complications for less benefit.
So why does this feel like I've just signed something I can't take back?