17. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Dante
I wake before dawn, Francesca's sleeping form curled against my chest.
She breathes evenly, peacefully. A difference to how I had her screaming my name, desperate for her next breath last night.
But last night… it changed something.
I stare at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the ancient plaster while memories flood back. Her dominance. My surrender. The temporary shift in power that should have enraged me… but instead it unlocked something I've kept buried since childhood.
Vulnerability.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen illuminating with a message. I slide from bed carefully, ensuring she remains undisturbed as I retrieve the device.
Vladimir's report is detailed as always. Luca has been photographed leaving a private clinic in London. Beside him is Bianca, but not as you would usually expect her.
Her face is more pale, one hand protectively cradling her swollen belly. And I know that this medical visit wasn't planned…
Something's wrong with the pregnancy.
The thought hits me hard. I should feel satisfied. My brother's distraction is my advantage. His weakness is my strength.
Instead, I find myself staring at Bianca's strained expression, the evident concern on Luca's face as he shields her from photographers. The way his hand covers hers over their unborn child.
I delete the images more forcefully than necessary.
Marco has sent additional intelligence—territorial reports, alliance updates, confirmation from the Volkovs who say they are fully aligned with my cause after our extraction of Castellano merchandise.
Everything is proceeding exactly as planned, despite my caution over the Volkovs true motivation.
The throne is within reach. My ambitions are crystallizing into reality.
I glance back at Francesca, still lost in her dreams. Last night, watching her take control, seeing her confident in her power over me... it awakened possibilities I've never considered.
She holds a different kind of strength. One I've never known. A different kind of legacy and desire.
No.
I push the thought away, anger flashing hot in my veins. This is exactly what my father warned against. Distraction. Weakness. Sentiment .
I dress quietly, slipping from the room before such dangerous thoughts can take deeper root.
By the time Francesca finds me, I've spent hours in the study, reviewing contracts, issuing commands, structuring the next phase of my ascension.
She appears in the doorway wearing a simple sundress, hair loose around her shoulders, feet bare against the terracotta tiles. Something twists in my chest at the sight of her, domestic and relaxed in this space that holds my earliest memories.
"Good morning," she says, studying my expression with those perceptive golden eyes. "You left early this morning."
"Business," I reply, deliberately cooling my tone.
Distance is necessary after last night's intimacy. Self-preservation dictates walls must be rebuilt.
She crosses the room despite my evident dismissal, perching on the edge of my desk. "Doing anything interesting?"
I hesitate, weighing how much to share. "Luca is distracted. There appears to be... complications with Bianca's pregnancy."
Her expression softens with genuine concern. "Shit… Is she alright?"
"They were photographed leaving a medical clinic. She doesn't look well." I close the laptop, irritated by her sympathy for people she's never even properly met. "It's an opportunity we can exploit."
Francesca's eyes narrow slightly. "They're your family, Dante. Your niece or nephew—"
"They're obstacles," I cut her off sharply. "Nothing more."
She studies me for a long moment, disappointment flooding her face. "If you say so."
The silence between us grows weighted. I can almost see her mentally retreating, rebuilding her own walls in response to mine.
Oddly, I find myself unwilling to let the morning continue this way.
"I thought we might go out today," I say, surprising us both. "There are ancient Roman ruins nearby. Worth seeing, if you're interested."
Her expression immediately brightens. "I'd love that. I wrote part of my dissertation on Roman architectural influences in renaissance banking structures."
"Of course you did," I reply, a grudging smile forming despite my determination to maintain distance. "Perhaps you can tell me all about it while I'll bend you over and fuck you on these… structures. The car will be ready in an hour."
***
Sunlight catches on ancient stone that has withstood centuries of war, weather, and human folly all around us. Crumbling columns reach toward the sky like abandoned prayers, while moss-covered pathways wind through what was once a thriving market town.
Romano drives our Range Rover, parking discreetly at the entrance before taking up position as both guide and security.
We've timed our visit carefully. Midweek, off-season. Ensuring minimal tourists. Minimal threats.
Francesca walks around the site, fingers trailing lightly over weathered stone, her academic knowledge bringing the empty spaces to life as she tells me all about it with great passion.
"This would have been the forum," she explains, gesturing to a wide central area that's drenched in warm sunlight. "The heart of civic life. Commerce, politics, justice… all of it would have been conducted in this space."
I find myself watching her more than the ruins, captivated by her animation, the intelligence lighting her features as she reconstructs ancient lives from dust and stone.
"I can't believe I've been here a week and you're only just bringing me here. I trust that you've been here before?" she asks, noticing my lack of surprise at the layout.
"Too many times. My mother brought Luca and me during summers." The admission slips out before I can censor it. Now I've caught Francesca's attention, she nudges me to continue. "We would play gladiators among the columns while she sketched."
Francesca's expression softens. "Don't take this the wrong way… but I struggle to see you and Luca were ever close enough to play nice."
What feels like a dagger twists in my chest. A specific pain I normally refuse to acknowledge, despite it's permanent presence.
"We were brothers. Real brothers… back then. Before our father shaped us into rivals."
I walk toward a fallen column, memories rising seemingly from the ground.
"Luca was always the strategic one, even in childhood play. He'd plan elaborate campaigns, mapping the ruins into territories, developing battle plans." A reluctant smile forms. "Me? I was more direct. I'd just charge in and overpower him."
She rolls her eyes and smiles. "Some things never change."
"We used to talk about emperors," I continue, surprising myself with these confessions. "Luca admired Augustus —the diplomat, the reformer. I preferred Tiberius —effective, feared, powerful."
"And yet both of them were ultimately destroyed by the very power they coveted," she adds quietly. "That's the tragedy of Rome. Each emperor believed they could master power without being corrupted by it."
Her observation strikes too close to truths I don't wish to examine. I move away, toward the remains of a temple at the site's far edge.
"You sound like my mother now," I say, the words sharp as they leave my mouth. "She believed power was a poison. That it destroyed everything good in those who held it."
"Was she wrong?"
I turn to face her, irritation flaring. "She was weak. Her beliefs got her killed."
"Or perhaps she understood something you're still learning," Francesca challenges, stepping closer. "That there are different kinds of strength. Different types of power."
Before I can respond, Romano appears at the pathway's entrance, his expression tense and demanding my attention.
"Signore, we should return to the car. I noticed suspicious movement near the southern entrance."
Instinct sharpens my senses immediately. "How many?"
"At least four men. They arrived together but separated upon entering." Romano's hand moves discreetly to the weapon beneath his jacket. "And sir, they do not move like tourists."
I nod, looking around at my options. The ruins offer both cover and vulnerability. There are too many approach angles, but also multiple escape routes.
It's a fucking maze.
"We must leave. Now," I decide, taking Francesca's arm. "Stay close. If something happens, you run for the car. Don't look back."
Her eyes widen with comprehension, but fear doesn't overtake her features. Instead, she nods with the calm assessment of someone who understands danger intimately.
"You think they're here for us?" she asks as we move briskly along the ancient pathway.
"I think coincidences are for people who don't have enemies," I reply, scanning our surroundings continuously. "I'm not willing to take risks."
We've nearly reached the exit when I spot two men moving with deliberate casualness, their attention too focused, their stance too ready.
What confirms my suspicions, turning wariness to rage, is the flash of color beneath one man's jacket as he adjusts his position. Ravelli red . My brother's calling card.
I push Francesca behind a stone wall, shielding her with my body as I draw my weapon. "Romano. West entrance. Two more at your three o'clock."
My security man nods, taking position to cover our rear approach.
"Are they Luca's men?" Francesca whispers, her body tense against mine.
"Seems my brother's distraction was a clever diversion," I reply, checking my gun is locked and loaded. "Stay down. Don't move unless I tell you."
And then it hits.
The first shot comes from our left. Amateur timing, poor positioning. The bullet strikes stone inches from my head, sending ancient dust billowing into the air.
I return fire immediately, hitting the shooter in his shoulder, deliberately non-fatal. I want information more than bodies right now.
How the fuck did they find me? How do they know I'm at the villa, let alone here today at these ruins?