18. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Francesca
Three days have passed since the attack at the ruins.
Dante has remained locked in the study, emerging only for meals taken in tense silence, his eyes constantly fixed to his phone.
The cut on his hand has begun to heal, but something else has fractured between us.
The intimacy we'd begun to build crumbles like the ancient stones where he killed a man to protect me. Where he told me he would die before letting anyone touch me.
I find myself standing at the kitchen window, watching raindrops trace patterns down glass while Maria kneads more dough. She must be getting tired of all this extra work by now, but you wouldn't know it by looking at her.
The storm outside arrived overnight, sky the color of bruises, thunder echoing across the valley like distant artillery.
"Stop worrying so much. He has always been this way," Maria says, following my gaze to where Dante paces on the terrace, phone pressed to his ear. "Even as a boy, he was just like his father. When troubled, he retreats."
I smile faintly. "Some things never change."
"But some things do, cara mia ." She shapes the dough with flour-dusted fingers. "I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."
"What was he like? Dante's father?" I ask, watching Maria's hands work the dough with practiced ease. "I know he favored Luca, but..."
Maria's movements still for a heartbeat.
Her weathered fingers curl into the soft dough before resuming their rhythm.
"Vito Ravelli was... complicated. He saw his sons as pieces on a chessboard.
Luca was his king, Dante his knight." She sighs.
"But a knight can only move in L-shapes, cara . Always indirect."
Thunder cracks overhead, making the windows rattle. On the terrace, Dante's shoulders tense at whatever he's hearing through the phone.
"And Elena? Did she try to stop him?"
"She tried to love them equally." Maria wipes her hands on her apron. "But even a mother's love cannot always heal what a father breaks."
She reaches for a ceramic cup, filling it with fresh espresso. The rich aroma cuts through the moisture drifting in from outside.
"Take this to him," she says, pressing the warm cup into my hands. "He hasn't eaten since breakfast, and it's nearly sunset."
I stare at the dark liquid, steam curling up like question marks. "He doesn't want to be disturbed."
" Sciocchezze ." Maria clicks her tongue. "What he wants and what he needs are different things. Go. Before the rain gets worse."
I carry a freshly poured espresso out to the covered terrace where Dante has been pacing for the last hour, phone pressed against his ear.
He's still dressed in last night's clothes, hair disheveled from repeatedly running his hands through it. Dark circles beneath his eyes reveal sleepless nights spent beside me, sometimes touching me, sometimes not.
He sees me approach but continues his conversation, voice lowered as he speaks rapid Italian into the phone. The rain creates a steady percussion against the terrace roof, providing a natural sound barrier for whatever secrets he's discussing.
As I set the espresso on the small iron table, he ends the call abruptly and turns to face me.
"You look like you need this," I say, nodding toward the steaming cup.
His expression is tense, jaw clenched tight as he reaches for the coffee.
"I received a call," he says, eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "From Nico."
My pulse quickens at the name. Dante's youngest brother, the one who stayed loyal to Luca after Dante's exile.
"What did he want?"
"A meeting. In Rome." Dante's jaw tightens. "He claims to have information critical to my... our… future."
"You don't believe him."
"I don't trust easily." He picks up the espresso, inhaling its aroma before taking a sip. His eyes remain fixed on the rain-drenched valley beyond the terrace. "But Nico has always been different to us. He is the peacemaker. The one who stayed out of the rivalry between Luca and me."
I move closer, leaning against the terrace railing beside him. "Could it be a trap? Those men at the ruins—"
"Were Luca's, not Nico's." He drains the espresso in one swift motion. "And yes, it could be a trap. Which is why I need your opinion."
The request surprises me. Weeks ago, I was merchandise. Property to be controlled. Now he's asking for my strategic assessment.
"Tell me what he said exactly."
Dante's expression darkens. "He wants to meet. Alone. Says there are things about our mother's death I don't know. Things Luca has discovered that change everything."
I turn to face the valley, watching rain cascade down the hillside, considering the few facts Dante has told me about his family's… dynamics .
"Elena's murder? The Volkovs were blamed, but your father arranged it, right? That's what you've believed all these years."
"Yes."
"And now Nico claims there's more to the story." I turn back to face him. "It's compelling bait for a trap."
"Precisely why I'm suspicious." He sets down the empty cup, moving toward me. "But if there's even a chance he's telling the truth... That if there is something out there that I can use against Luca…"
I can see the conflict in his eyes. The strategic thinker battling the wounded boy who watched his mother die.
"You want to go," I observe. "Despite the risk."
"I need to know," he admits. His hand catches mine, the bandage I wrapped around it still holding tight. "And I need you with me."
My eyebrows rise in surprise. "You're taking me to Rome?"
"I'm taking you everywhere, princess." His grip tightens. "You've proven your value, Francesca. Your insight. Your loyalty. Your fucking intellect. You're… invaluable to me."
Invaluable. How romantic.
"When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow morning. I've arranged accommodations already. Marco and Vincent are already moving to secure the location." His thumb continues its hypnotic path along my pulse point. "Pack whatever you need. Take whatever you want."
Rain drums harder on the terrace roof, forcing us to stand closer to hear each other. The scent of damp earth mingles with his cologne, creating an intoxicating combination.
"Dante, if Nico is setting a trap—"
"Then I'll kill him too." The declaration is cold and so completely emotionless that I have no doubt he actually would. "Brother or not."
But I hear the faintest tremor beneath the certainty. This isn't just another enemy to eliminate. This is the brother who remained neutral in the blood feud. The youngest Ravelli, caught between warring siblings.
A dangerous thought forms in my mind. "Why haven't you ever talked about Nico? Why is it just you and Luca always fighting?"
Dante shrugs, trying to dismiss whatever it is he's hiding about his younger brother.
So I grip his chin and drag his eyes back to mine. "Tell me about Nico. If you want me to come, I need to know everything, Dante."
He turns away, gripping the terrace railing as he stares out at the storm. "Nico is our half-brother. The result of my father's affair with his personal assistant."
I swallow hard at the emotion in Dante's voice.
"Elena knew?"
"Everyone knew. My father made no effort to hide his... indiscretions." Dante's voice carries an edge of bitterness. "But Elena insisted on raising Nico as her own. Said it wasn't the boy's fault who his father fucked behind her back."
The crude language can't disguise the respect in his tone when speaking of his mother's choice.
For someone who claims to honor his father's legacy more than his mothers, the time spent here at her villa in the Italian countryside, along with the drawings and stories I've heard from Maria… it's becoming abundantly clear.
Dante has unsolved trauma involving his mothers early death.
"And what about Luca? How did he feel about Nico?"
"Protective. Always protective." Dante's expression darkens. "The perfect firstborn caring for his baby brother. One more way Luca played the role my father wrote for him better than I did."
The picture suddenly becomes clearer. Three brothers bound by blood and betrayal, each assigned their role in Vito Ravelli's ruthless dynasty.
Luca the heir, Dante the enforcer, Nico the spare caught between them.
"This feels familiar," I say quietly.
Dante's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"
"The secretive calls. The urgent meetings.
The sudden decisions." I wrap my arms around myself, the chilled air from the storm raising goosebumps on my skin.
"It reminds me of when my father was preparing to trade me.
He was always on the phone, always whispering whenever I entered the room, always uncomfortable when I asked questions. "
Understanding dawns in Dante's eyes. "You think I'm keeping something from you."
"Aren't you?" I challenge. "Three days barely emerging from your study. The attack at the ruins. Now a mysterious call from your estranged brother. What aren't you telling me, Dante?"
His hands grip my shoulders with barely leashed intensity.
"I am hiding nothing . Nothing, at least, that concerns you," he growls.
"Everything about you concerns me now," I snap back. "Or have you forgotten who I am? What I've become to you?"
His nostrils flare, jaw clenching tight. For a moment, I think he might push me away, retreat back behind his walls of silence and control. Just like Maria said he will. Just like he has ever since we were attacked and I was face to face with an attacked there for his blood, not mine.
Instead, he does something that steals my breath.
He tells me the truth.
"Someone has frozen my accounts," he admits, voice low and dangerous. "Millions, inaccessible. Accounts and details I've spent years establishing… cut in an instant."
My mind races through implications. "Luca?"
"Possibly. Or the Volkovs. I still don't know their true alliance." His fingers flex against my shoulders. "Without those funds though, certain operations become... complicated. Impossible, almost."
"Your move for the throne."
He nods once, the admission clearly painful for him. "I've lost significant leverage. Territory I thought secure is now vulnerable. And now Nico calls, offering information I can't ignore."
Understanding clicks into place. "You think he knows who's behind the financial attack."
"Or maybe… he's part of it." Dante's eyes burn with a darkness that makes my blood run cold. "Either way, I need to look him in the eyes when he speaks. I need to know if my own flesh and blood has betrayed me. Again ."
The raw vulnerability in his voice catches me off-guard. Beneath the monster, beneath the criminal mastermind, there's still a boy deeply wounded by years of family betrayal.
I reach up, cupping his face between my palms. "Then we go to Rome. Together."
His expression softens, one hand moving to cover mine. "I hope you understand what you're agreeing to, Francesca. If Nico has turned against me—"
"Then we deal with it," I finish for him. "Like we dealt with those men at the ruins. Like we dealt with Luca in Paris. Like we'll deal with anything that threatens what we're building."
"Building?" he echoes, the word heavy on his lips.
I don't flinch from his gaze. "Yes, Dante. Building . Whether you intended it or not, this is no longer just about your revenge or my captivity. I'm not merely a symbol of power to you anymore. This is about us. Together."
His hand slides to my throat, thumb resting against my pulse point. It's not a threatening gesture. It's almost as if he's just feeling the rhythm of my life beneath his fingers. The beating of my heart right there, at his fingertips.
"And what exactly are we building, princess?"
"An empire," I whisper, rain misting my skin as the wind shifts. "But one where we rule together. Where I'm not your possession but your partner."
His lips curve into that dangerous smile that makes heat pool low in my belly. "Bold demands from a woman who was once merchandise."
"Bold demands for a man who needs me more than he's willing to admit."
The taunt hits its mark. His grip around my throat tightens, eyes darkening with desire and something deeper, more possessive.
"Need is dangerous, Francesca," he murmurs. "Need makes men vulnerable. Weak."
"No," I counter, holding his gaze steadily. "Need makes men human. And humans can be far more dangerous than monsters when they have something worth fighting for."
He studies me for a moment, the struggle visible in his eyes. The battle between the monster he's cultivated and the man I know is somewhere underneath.
Finally, he leans forward, his forehead pressing against mine in a gesture of surprising intimacy.
"Rome," he says quietly. "Tomorrow. Pack lightly. We may need to move quickly."
I nod, understanding the implications. Trust has been offered, but contingencies remain in place.
"And Francesca?" His voice drops lower. "When I meet with Nico... you will remain at the hotel. That's non-negotiable."
I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me with a look.
"You can be my partner in planning, my equal in strategy," he continues. "But I will not risk you in a potential trap. Not when..."
He stops abruptly, vulnerability flashing in his eyes.
"Not when what?" I press.
His thumb traces my lower lip, rain beginning to spatter against our skin as the wind shifts.
"Not when I've just begun to admit how much I need you."
The confession, small as it is, sends a shiver through me. From a man like Dante Ravelli, it's equivalent to poetry, to declarations of devotion from lesser men.
I turn my face into his palm, pressing my lips to the healing cut on his hand. "Then I'll wait for you. But you will tell me everything afterward. No more secrets between us."
"No more secrets," he agrees, his other hand sliding to my waist, drawing me closer as the rain intensifies around us. "We face what comes together."
Thunder cracks across the Italian sky, the storm enveloping us just as something fundamental shifts between us.
No longer captor and captive. No longer master and possession.
Just two monsters recognizing each other in the dark… and choosing to hunt together rather than tear each other apart.