All Chapters of The Ricci Heir: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Jasper was quiet tonight.The kind of quiet that settles over small towns after dark — porch lights glowing, dogs barking in the distance, the hum of cicadas filling the spaces between breaths. I’d gotten used to it. Hell, I liked it. After years of chaos, Jasper felt like a place where a man could breathe.But tonight, my mind wasn’t on peace.It was on Matteo Ricci.And the assignment he’d just dropped in my lap.Kat was curled up on the couch when I walked in, her legs tucked under her, one of my old hoodies drowning her frame. She looked up the second she heard the door.“You’re late,” she said, but her voice wasn’t annoyed. Just curious.I shut the door behind me, locking it out of habit. “Got a call.”“Matteo?” she guessed immediately.She always knew.“Yeah.” I dropped down beside her, elbows on my knees. “He needs Ghost.”Kat straightened, all softness gone in an instant. “For what?”I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Ciara.”Her eyes sharpened. “What happened?”“Nothing yet,” I sa

I didn’t remember walking back to our room.One moment I was staring at the screen, at Ghost’s files, at Kat’s face full of fury and heartbreak…and the next, Matteo was closing our bedroom door behind us, his hand warm and steady on my back.My chest felt tight. Too tight. Like my ribs were trying to hold in something that didn’t fit anymore.“Kitten,” Matteo murmured, guiding me toward the bed. “Breathe.”I tried.I really did.But the air wouldn’t go all the way in.He sat down and pulled me into his lap without asking — like he already knew I needed to be held before I even knew it myself. His arms wrapped around me, strong and sure, anchoring me to something solid when everything else felt like it was tilting.“I’m right here,” he whispered into my hair. “I’ve got you.”My voice cracked. “Matteo… she didn’t even know. My mother didn’t know who Cormac really was. She didn’t know she was adopting Siobhan’s baby. She didn’t know she was being poisoned. She didn’t know—”“Shh.” He cu

Ciara didn’t give me time to think.The moment Dr. Vescari left and the door clicked shut, she pulled me toward her — not desperate, not shaken, but with a fire in her eyes I hadn’t seen since before we were interupted.“Matteo,” she whispered, fingers curling in my shirt, “we weren’t finished.”Every thought I had — the poison, the danger, the plan — scattered like dust.“Kitten…” I breathed, but she was already guiding me out of the office toward the bedroom, her touch soft but certain, her body pressed against mine like she needed to feel something alive, something real, something that wasn’t fear or grief or betrayal.I cupped her face, searching her eyes. “Are you sure?”She nodded, brushing her lips against my jaw. “I need you. Right now.”And that was all it took.I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist, her breath warm against my neck as I carried her to the bed. The world outside our room — the lies, the danger, the poison — disappeared.Only she existed.Only us.I s

Enzo came into my office with the same quiet urgency as before, the intercepted tray balanced in his hands. He set it on my desk with a controlled exhale.“Boss,” he said, lowering his voice, “she tried again.”My jaw tightened. “Tell me.”“I watched her more closely this time,” Enzo continued. “She carries a small vial. Glass. Clear. She keeps it hidden in her apron pocket. I saw her use it.”A cold fury settled in my chest. “You’re certain?”“Yes.” His eyes hardened. “If I can distract her long enough, I can retrieve it from her room. But I’ll need time. Two hours at least. I have to make sure she won’t notice anyone entered.”Two hours.We could give him that — but only if we controlled Isolde’s movements.Ciara stepped into the office then, wrapped in one of my sweaters, her hair pulled back, looking tired but steady. She’d been listening from the doorway.“What do you need?” she asked Enzo.He bowed his head respectfully. “For her to leave the villa, Signora. Long enough for me t

Declan was getting weaker.I could see it in the way he held the railing when he walked down the stairs, the way he rubbed his temples as if the world was too loud, the way he blinked too slowly when I spoke to him.It was working.I carried the tray into his study, the same way I had every morning for weeks. Tea, lightly sweetened. A touch of honey. And just enough of the clear liquid to keep him unsteady, confused, pliable.“Declan,” I said softly, setting the cup beside him. “You should drink. You look tired.”He didn’t even argue. He just nodded, eyes dull, and reached for the cup with a trembling hand.Perfect.I stood behind him, watching him sip, watching the poison do its work. He didn’t suspect a thing. He never had. He trusted me—his dutiful second wife, the woman who had stood by him after Maeve died.Maeve.Even dead, she still haunted this house. Her pictures. Her name. Her memory. Declan spoke of her as if she were still here, as if she were the only woman he had ever lo