Worth

Here’s your revised version with a slower pace and the name changes applied:

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I crack one eye open the following afternoon when I hear the bedroom door creak.

Lucian strides in purposefully, carrying yet another tray piled with enough food to feed several households. He places it on the nightstand before perching beside me on the bed, his ever-worried gaze sweeping over me as if he expects any significant changes to have happened in the single day that’s passed since he brought me home.

“How are you feeling, principessa?” he asks, brushing a lock of hair out of my face with a gentle hand. It’s as if he’s convinced I might shatter like paper-thin glass if he doesn’t keep his touch featherlight.

I heave an exasperated sigh, my fingers closing around his hand before he can pull away. “The same as when you asked me an hour ago, husband of mine. And the hour before that.”

His worried expression splits into a smirk at my fiery tone. “Forgive me for asking again, wife of mine.”

I roll my eyes but accept the piece of toast he holds out for me, secretly basking in his doting attention even though I’m sure I’m going to get real sick of it real fast.

“Look, Lucian, I appreciate you taking care of me, but I don’t need a nursemaid. And I can’t possibly eat that much food, even if I am eating for two.”

He tuts at me, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t start, Aurora. It’s only day one. I’m prepared to get much more annoying.”

I push myself up into a sitting position, ignoring the sharp ache in my ribs. Despite his insistence that I rest, I can’t seem to calm every muscle in my body that’s tensed for bad news. Every morning, we anxiously mark another day on the calendar, counting down until I can see the doctor again. Feelings of bitter dread and tentative hope never cease their war in my chest, but a quiet relief grows stronger with each hour that passes without any sign of miscarriage.

When the day of reckoning finally arrives, I lie on the exam table barely daring to breathe, clutching Lucian’s hand in a white-knuckled grip while the doctor readies his wand for an internal ultrasound. Despite his gentle insistence that I relax, I can’t help but brace myself.

And then—there it is. A strange sort of fluttering rings out from the machine.

The doctor’s voice is warm with reassurance. “And we have a heartbeat, strong and steady.”

Tears spring to my eyes immediately. I stay silent, just listening to the racing thump of our child’s proof of life. One glance at Lucian shows me there’s moisture gathering in his own awed gaze, his expression one of pure joy and relief.

Even with such happy news, even when I excitedly inspect my stomach each morning for any sign of a small swell, I still can’t entirely escape the trauma of the last twenty years. Some nights, I still jerk awake with a strangled gasp or a panicked scream, my blood pounding in my ears as remnants of vicious nightmares cling to me even as I regain consciousness. But Lucian is always there, immediately gathering me into his strong arms and pulling me securely against his body.

“Shh, amore, I’ve got you. You’re safe. It was just a dream,” he soothes me, his deep voice rough with sleep, the exact balm I’ve needed all my life. Infinitely comforting as he rocks me gently. All I have to do is burrow into his warmth, inhaling deeply until his familiar scent and the rhythmic beat of his heart lull me back to sleep.

But once the nightmares gradually come less often, and the dark bruises across my skin fade to pale yellows and greens, Lucian’s incessant nursing starts to become more stifling than sweet.

One evening after we’ve finished another soul-warming meal cooked by Chiara, I set my fork down with deliberate finality.

“Lucian,” I gripe, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’ve had enough of the coddling. I need you to stop treating me like I’ll fall apart the second you let me do anything for myself.”

He frowns, slumping back in his chair at the dining table. “I just want to take care of you, principessa. You’ve been through so—”

“You have taken care of me,” I cut him off gently. “But I need you to let me feel like myself again.”

I push my chair back and pace slowly around the table, stopping beside him to stroke my palms over his broad shoulders and up to settle on his cheeks. His stubbled jaw tenses beneath my touch.

“I need you to make me feel alive again,” I whisper, leaning down to brush my lips over his. “I want you to remind me what it means to be married to the notorious Don Lucian. Capiche?”

A slow, predatory growl rumbles in his throat.

“This is about to get interesting,” he mutters, immediately rising from his chair.

I watch him with a raised eyebrow, chewing on the inside of my cheek in a weak attempt to hide my gleeful smirk.

Lucian wastes no time. In one swift movement, he grips me by the waist and lifts me onto the polished wood of the dining table. Plates and cutlery clatter to the floor, but I don’t care. I throw my head back with a laugh as he yanks me closer by my belt buckle, his movements rough with impatience.

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” he murmurs, scraping his fingertips up my ribs before reaching around to grab the zipper of my dress.

With one sharp tug, he peels it away from my body as if it were made of tissue paper.

I silently congratulate myself for choosing not to wear a bra today. His appreciative hum shoots straight through me as his hands roam over every inch of exposed skin.

“Can’t wait to see what these look like in a couple months,” he murmurs against my mouth before trailing hot, wet kisses down my jaw and neck. I let my head fall back, drowning in the sensations I’ve been starved of for far too long.

Rarely the one on his knees, rarely the one to obey, Lucian gives me everything I ask for without hesitation.

And for the first time in weeks, I feel whole again.

Here’s a more refined and slow-paced version of your scene, with a balance of sensual intimacy, power dynamics, and a growing tension in the meeting.

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Sunlight streams through the gauzy curtains the following morning, casting a golden glow over the room—warm, soft, and intimate. It fits, somehow, the quiet after the storm, the rekindled fire that had burned well into the night.

Lucian lies propped up on one elbow, watching her. Aurora stands by the mirror, slipping into a deep green silk dress that clings to her curves in a way that makes his pulse slow, then quicken again. She moves with a quiet confidence, smoothing the fabric over her hips, adjusting the delicate straps, completely unaware of how devastating she looks.

Or maybe not.

A knowing smirk curves her lips as she catches his gaze in the mirror. One perfectly arched brow lifts. “See something you like, amore mio?”

Lucian’s throat tightens. She knows exactly what she does to him.

Instead of answering immediately, he rolls off the bed and moves toward her, slow and deliberate. There’s a simmering heat beneath his skin, a raw edge of hunger he has no intention of hiding. His gaze drops to the small but noticeable swell of her belly, his chest tightening with something he still struggles to name. Wonder. Pride. An ache so deep it roots itself inside him.

His hands find her waist, fingers spreading over the soft curve. She exhales as he presses against her from behind, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

“I can still barely believe my luck,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “This little miracle we’ve created together.”

Aurora hums, leaning back against him. “Well, you better start believing it. And you better enjoy every minute you’ve got with me like this.” Her tone is teasing, but there’s warmth there, too. “Soon enough, this little miracle is going to be crying and demanding all our attention.”

Lucian huffs a quiet laugh, his hands smoothing over her stomach. His world, his empire—everything—narrows down to this. Her. The life growing inside her.

But reality waits for no one.

With a sigh, he presses his forehead against hers. “As much as I’d love to spend all day locked away with you, we have business to attend to.”

She pulls back, just enough to meet his gaze. Determination glints in her golden eyes. “Then let’s remind them who runs this city, husband of mine.”

Lucian watches her for a moment longer before brushing his lips over hers in a slow, thorough kiss, humming against her mouth before finally forcing himself to step away.

The dining room is heavy with anticipation as they stride in together, hand in hand. The heads of every major crime family in the city are already gathered at his invitation, seated around the long table. Conversations taper off, a tense silence stretching as all eyes track their movements.

As expected, Andrea is the first to rise, dipping his head in greeting. “Don Lucian. Signora Boncini. Thank you for inviting us into your home.”

One by one, the others follow suit, some with grudging nods, others with barely concealed disdain. There’s still tension in the air, but Lucian doesn’t miss the way Aurora holds her chin high, unwavering. Regal, untouchable.

He places a hand on her shoulder, letting the weight of his presence settle over the room. “Thank you all for coming,” he begins, his voice even, controlled. “I’ve called this meeting to discuss the future of our city—and those who rule its underground.”

A brief pause, then—

“As you all know, Riccardo Agosti is no longer a problem.” A flicker of unease ripples through the table, though no one dares to speak. “His resources are gone. His men—those who stood with him—are buried six feet under. And as for him…” Lucian’s mouth curves slightly. “I made sure his end was slow.”

Several throats clear. A few nods. Even some reluctant smirks.

Aurora remains perfectly poised beside him, the picture of control.

“In light of the Agosti family’s… absence,” Lucian continues, sweeping a measured gaze over the table, “I believe it’s time we put an end to old cycles. The bloodshed. The endless wars. We can build something stronger. A lasting peace that benefits us all.”

He lets the words sink in before delivering the final blow.

“But first, there’s something you all need to understand.” His fingers tighten slightly on Aurora’s shoulder. “My wife is not just my wife. She is my equal in all things—including ruling my empire.”

The silence that follows is different. Heavier.

Andrea is the first to react, rising smoothly from his chair. “As Don of the Morelli family, I stand firmly with the Boncinis.” His voice is steady, unwavering. “Aurora has more than proven herself as a leader. It’s time this city recognizes that.”

A few murmurs ripple through the room, cautious, testing the waters. But not everyone is so easily swayed.

Don Giuseppe Russo leans forward, fingers steepled. “Forgive my interruption, Don Lucian, but… it’s unusual for a bride to take such an active role in our business.” He tilts his head, expression unreadable. “Especially in her… condition.”

Lucian’s jaw clenches. Heat licks at his spine, slow and dangerous.

But before he can react, Aurora does.

Her voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath it. “If you’re questioning my ability to lead, Don Russo, I’d advise you to choose your next words very carefully.”

A flicker of something passes over the old man’s face—uncertainty, perhaps, or calculation.

She leans forward slightly, her golden gaze locking onto his. “I may be carrying the next heir to this empire, but that does not make me weak.” Her lips curve, though there’s nothing soft about it. “If anything, it makes me more motivated to secure our family’s legacy. By any means necessary.”

Russo swallows, clearly unsettled by the quiet promise in her voice.

Lucian lets the tension hang for a long moment before he finally speaks. “Disrespecting Aurora is the same as disrespecting me. And I don’t tolerate disrespect.” His voice drops to something colder. “She is my wife, my partner, my equal. You will treat her as you treat me. Or you will suffer the consequences.”

Another silence stretches across the table, thick and weighted.

Then Andrea stands again, offering Aurora a slight nod. “It’s long past time we had peace in this city.” His dark gaze sweeps over the room. “Her claim to power is indisputable.”

There’s no immediate argument. Only tense acceptance.

Lucian glances at Aurora, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

She meets his gaze, her fingers brushing against his beneath the table.

United. Unshakable. Ready for whatever comes next.