12. Chapter Ten #2
"Does it bother you?" I ask quietly.
"What?"
"Their happiness. The fact they are expecting a child."
His eyes snap to mine, cold fury replacing the momentary vulnerability. "This has nothing to do with their spawn and everything to do with the throne that rightfully belongs to me. That will belong to me."
"Of course," I reply, sensing that this conversational will serve no purpose in our current environment. "Shall we circulate? There's a Corsican arms dealer by the bar over there."
He offers his arm, slowly looking away from Luca like the perfect gentleman he's pretending to be for any watching eyes. "Lead the way."
For the next hour, we move through the gathering like a well-oiled machine. I translate subtle nuances in French negotiations that Dante might miss, while he projects the controlled menace that makes even hardened criminals step back.
We're good together. Dangerously good.
My education and social finesse complementing his raw power and strategic mind. Whether I'm choosing to play this role or have truly been transformed by it hardly seems to matter anymore.
The lines between captivity and partnership blur further with each passing moment.
I feel Dante tense beside me as we navigate the outskirts of the ballroom. His body goes rigid, his hand suddenly gripping my waist with bruising force.
Following his gaze, I see why. Luca and Bianca Ravelli are looking directly at us, their expressions shifting beneath their masks.
"Should we approach them?" I ask.
"No. They'll come to us," Dante says, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.
I follow his gaze to see Luca and Bianca approaching, their path bringing them directly toward us. The brothers have been circling each other all evening, maintaining careful distance while remaining completely aware of each other's movements.
"It was inevitable," Dante murmurs against my ear as we observe three Italian capos huddled in intense conversation. "We can't avoid them all evening."
"Breathe," I remind him, echoing his earlier advice. "Remember why we're here. This is about you , not him."
Dante nods and straightens, squaring his broad shoulders beneath his perfect tuxedo. His hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing in a gesture that feels more genuine than performed.
This is crazy. How normal this all feels.
Where has the dark man who was holding me prisoner? And where is the woman who swore she would fight him at every turn?
When Luca closes the last few strides, we all stand there, face to face, the tension crystallizes around us, creating a bubble of silence in the glittering celebration that continues.
"Well, look who decided to acknowledge his own brother," Luca greets, his voice neutral but eyes sharp behind his mask. "I wasn't certain you'd attend, Dante."
"And miss the opportunity to congratulate the 'happy couple'?" Dante's smile is barely there. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Luca's gaze shifts to me, assessing and coolly professional. "Ms. Castellano. You look well despite the… growth on your shoulders."
I feel Dante's fingers tighten around mine as his entire body coils with tension. The muscle in his jaw ticks, and his eyes narrow behind his black mask.
"At least I don't hide behind our father's legacy," Dante snarls, taking a half-step forward. "Tell me, brother, how does it feel wearing a dead man's ring?"
Luca's expression hardens to granite. "Better than cutting off my own finger in a pathetic display of rebellion."
The air cracks between them. I press closer to Dante's side, feeling the violent energy radiating from his body. His breathing has gone shallow, predatory.
"Careful," Dante's voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "You wouldn't want anything to happen to your pregnant queen in such a crowded room."
Bianca's hand instinctively moves to her stomach. The gesture makes Dante's lips curl into something feral.
"You always were father's attack dog," Luca says. "All muscle, no finesse. Is that why you needed to steal someone else's princess? Couldn't find your own willing bride?"
Dante's growl vibrates through his chest where my hand rests. "I didn't steal anything. Unlike you, I made legitimate arrangements."
"Legitimate?" Luca's laugh is cold. "Is that what we're calling kidnapping these days?"
I feel Dante's muscles bunch, ready to spring. His fingers flex against my hip, and I know he's calculating the distance to his brother's throat.
The masks they wear only make the confrontation more sinister. Two wolves circling each other in the candlelight, neither willing to back down.
"I actually started out the night with hope that we might speak privately," Luca says to Dante, tension vibrating beneath his controlled tone. "This public posturing serves neither of us."
"On the contrary," Dante counters smoothly. "It serves me quite well. The criminal elite should witness the transition of power before it occurs... makes for fewer complications afterward."
Luca's jaw tightens. "There will be no transition, Dante. Vito Ravelli made his choice clear, despite his… unusual tactics."
"Father is dead," Dante replies, ice coating each word. "Murdered by your filthy cross-blooded bride."
Bianca flinches visibly, and Luca steps closer to his brother, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Careful, Dante."
Dante's fingers dig deeper into my flesh, and I shift on my heels to place my hand over his. Not to restrain, but to ground him.
Luca's cold smile promises violence beneath his perfect manners. I can't help but wonder where it all went wrong between such a dangerous family.
It's like we're all playing parts in some kind of dangerous theater. The protective husband, the pregnant queen, the captive princess, the vengeful brother.
But beneath our masks, I sense that none of us truly knows which role will be our last.
"Come back to London. Back to the mansion," Luca continues in a controlled voice. "We can settle this privately. As men. As brothers. Nico will be there too."
Dante's laugh lacks any warmth.
"As brothers? Now you sound like our mother. Sweet, na?ve Elena. Always believing in family unity until the very end."
Luca's face turns bright red. "You don't get to speak of her. Not after what you did to her grave."
I look to Dante, searching for answers. What did he do to his mother's grave?!
"Why not? We all know I admired our father more," Dante continues, deliberately provocative.
"Enough," Luca practically growls, one hand moving protectively toward his wife. "This isn't the place."
"On that we agree," Dante concedes, though his posture remains coiled tight as a spring. "Enjoy your evening, brother. While it lasts."
As Luca guides Bianca away, her face notably paler than before, I feel Dante's hand tighten around mine to the point of pain. His breathing comes faster, pupils dilated behind his mask.
"Dante," I say quietly, tugging him toward a secluded alcove behind a massive marble column. "Are you okay? Just breathe, remember? Breathe. "
But now we're hidden from prying eyes, the elegant facade has cracked.
Dante turns on me, his hand finding my throat, not squeezing but resting there. His breath is heavy, his nostrils flaring at the sheer force of the air speeding through his chest.
"Did you see her?" he hisses, his face inches from mine. "Pretending innocence while carrying his heir? While they flaunt what should have been mine?"
"Dante—"
His mouth crashes against mine, swallowing whatever words I might have offered. The kiss is punishing, possessive, a claiming rather than a caress. His teeth catch my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery taste mingling with the champagne still lingering on my tongue.
I should push him away.
Should remember that this man stole me from my life, branded me like cattle, keeps me in a gilded cage. That he has clearly done something awful, terrible, to the memory of his mother.
Instead, my hands fist in his lapels, pulling him closer as heat floods my core. My back hits the cold stone wall, his body caging mine completely.
"Dante, we can't—"
"You're fucking mine ," he growls against my mouth, hands already gathering the fabric of my gown. "You are mine, Francesca. Say it."
"I'm yours," I whisper, the admission torn from somewhere deep within me. A place that I no longer control. " Yes . I'm yours, Dante."
His hand slides beneath my dress, finding me bare beneath, already wet for him despite everything. Despite knowing exactly what this is… his rage at Luca channeled into possessing me, marking me, using my body to soothe his wounded pride.
"I will take everything from him," Dante vows as his fingers slide inside me, my body arching in response. "The throne. The empire. Everything he believes is his by right."
I should care that I'm just a pawn in his vengeance. Should remember my own agency, my own plans.
I'm stronger than this.
But as his thumb circles my clit, as his free hand pins my wrists above my head, all I can focus on is the pleasure building inside me. It's dark, twisted and… and… perfect .
"I will rule, Francesca," he continues, his voice a dark promise against my ear as his fingers pump into my wet pussy faster, harder. "With you beside me, Francesca. You will be my perfect queen. You are my match."
When release claims me, it's with a surrender more complete than any he's forced from me before. Because this time, for reasons I cannot fully understand or accept, it's freely given.
I shatter around his fingers, body trembling against the ancient stones of the chateau, I realize with startling clarity that I'm no longer simply playing a role to escape and gain my freedom.
Something has changed. Something fundamental. Something irreversible.
And as Dante's eyes meet mine in the shadowed alcove, I see that he knows it too.