20. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Francesca
I wake to the soft brush of something silken against my cheek.
My body responds before my mind, arching instinctively toward the touch. When I finally open my eyes, Dante stands above me, immaculately dressed despite the early rise of the sunshine outside the window.
"Wake up, princess," Dante's grunts huskily. "I have something for you."
I blink away sleep, rising onto my elbows as a blood red rose trails softly down my face. The presidential suite's massive bed swallows me in Egyptian cotton, my naked body still bearing faint marks from our aggressive reunion last night when Dante returned from his meeting with Nico.
"What time is it?" I ask, reaching for the sheet to cover myself.
Dante's hand stops mine, exposing my naked body to his hungry gaze. "It's still early. But we have plans today."
He presents an envelope, thick cream-colored cardstock with gold trim. Inside, I find two tickets for tonight's performance at the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma. La Traviata . Private box. The most exclusive cultural event in Rome this season.
"Opera?" I look up, unable to mask my surprise. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a Verdi enthusiast."
His smile is dangerous for this early in the morning. "I contain multitudes of layers, Francesca."
"So I'm discovering," I reply, setting the tickets aside, the weight of their significance not lost on me.
This is no ordinary gift. This is Dante Ravelli displaying his captive bride to Roman society. This is staking his claim publicly, just like he did in Paris, showing the criminal world that the Castellano princess belongs to him now.
And yet... something in his eyes suggests there's more to this offering.
"How was Nico?" I ask, returning to the subject as I slide from bed, not bothering to cover my nakedness as I cross to the bathroom.
I trail my fingers along the cool marble of the bathroom counter, remembering how Dante returned last night.
The clock had shown nearly three when the bedroom door opened. I'd fought sleep for hours, determined to hear about his meeting with his brother, but exhaustion had finally pulled me under.
His touch had been different when he woke me. Gentler than usual, almost hesitant. He brushed my hair back, his fingers lingering against my cheek. When I asked about Nico he simply pressed his lips to my forehead and told me to go back to sleep.
Dante follows me into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe as I start the shower. Steam begins to fill the marble room, fogging the mirrors.
"The meeting was… illuminating," he replies. "Nico is sure the Volkovs are betraying me, as I suspected."
I turn to him, studying his expression. "And your accounts? The frozen assets?"
"Almost certainly their work, though I can't prove it yet." He loosens his tie, eyes never leaving mine. "They facilitated your transfer to me, then systematically began dismantling my financial foundations. A clever strategy, if not a stupid one."
The calm way he delivers this information sends a chill through me despite the rising steam surrounding the bathroom. "So they used me as a distraction?"
"Perhaps. Or maybe they never intended to honor our agreement at all." He steps closer, one hand gripping my hip with familiar possessiveness. "Regardless, their miscalculation was assuming you would weaken me."
His hand slides to squeeze my ass, applying just enough pressure to remind me how much I crave him. But there's something else in his touch this morning.
"So we're attending the opera to show the Volkovs I'm not the liability they hoped for?"
His laugh lacks humor. "We're attending the opera because I want to take you, Francesca. I thought you would enjoy a night out with your fiancé."
I pin him with a raised brow. "Dante, in all my time by your side, I know you—"
He moves his hand from my ass to cover my mouth, stopping the argument forming on my lips.
"And yes, princess . And it's also a good way to remind Rome who controls the Castellano princess now. Happy?"
Smiling with satisfaction beneath his hand, I step under the hot spray of the shower, letting water cascade down my body. Dante strips too, joining me in the shower.
With steam engulfing around us, his hands immediately find my waist, spinning me to face the wall as he presses against my back and finds the soap.
"Nico hinted at a change in allegiance," he says, lips at my ear as his hands work citrus smelling soap around my shoulders. "Or perhaps it's just survival. He claims Luca is distracted by Bianca's pregnancy complications. Luca is vulnerable, yet somehow more dangerous than before."
"And you believe him?"
His teeth graze my shoulder, gentle kisses making my nipples peak as his warm touch sends shivers down my spine.
"I believe that all Ravelli men are raised to know how to manipulate truth for advantage."
"Including you?" I challenge, gasping as his hand slides down my spine, slipping between my thighs.
"Especially me." His fingers find me already wet, and I arch my back to bend slightly, ready for him despite the heavy conversation. "But luckily for you, my manipulations now include your pleasure."
Dante's fingers slide inside me, two thick digits stretching me in a delicious burn that makes my breath catch.
The shower's hot spray cascades down my back, but it's nothing compared to the heat building between my thighs.
His fingers curl, finding that perfect spot and rubbing against it in that makes my knees weak.
" Dante ," I gasp, palms flat against the marble shower wall.
"You missed me last night," he growls, his voice a dark promise against my ear.
I can't deny it. I don't even try.
His fingers work deeper, stretching, preparing me as water streams between our bodies.
Dante's free hand tangles in my wet hair, wrapping the long strands around his fist before pulling back just enough to arch my spine. The slight sting at my scalp sends electricity down my nerve endings, making my pussy clench around his invading fingers.
"Please," I whisper.
His hard cock presses against my ass. I feel the blunt head nudging between my cheeks, seeking entrance. The thought of him claiming me there sends a fresh rush of arousal through me, flooding my pussy.
I reach between us, finding his thick shaft and guiding it lower, positioning him at my slick entrance. The head of his cock stretches me wider than his fingers, making me gasp at the delicious pressure.
"Take what's yours," I challenge, pushing my ass back against him, silently begging him to fill me.
Dante doesn't hesitate. His grip tightens in my hair as he thrusts forward, burying himself inside me with one powerful stroke.
"Fuck, yes …" he growls, starting a rhythm that has me gasping against the tile.
Each thrust drives me forward, my breasts bouncing with the force of his possession. The sound of wet skin slapping against skin echoes off the marble walls, mixing with my desperate moans and his guttural grunts.
He takes me against the shower wall, hard and fast, his possession a physical reminder of where I stand in his world. But as I shatter around him, crying out his name, I realize my position has shifted.
I'm no longer merchandise. Not quite equal... but something far more dangerous to us both.
***
The Teatro dell'Opera di Roma glows like a golden dream against the night sky.
Lights illuminate its neoclassical facade, casting reflections off the gowns and jewels of Rome's elite as they ascend the marble steps.
Dante helps me from our car as we join the glittering crowd. My dress, a midnight-blue creation Dante has selected for me, draws appreciative glances that the man at my arm silences with cold stares.
"See, even they know you look magnificent," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
"Who knew… I clean up well for merchandise ," I reply, the barb softened by the smile I can't quite suppress.
" Former merchandise," he corrects, guiding me up the steps.
The grand foyer sparkles with crystal chandeliers throwing reflective prisms across marble floors. Champagne flows freely, carried on silver trays by waitstaff navigating the social battlefield.
Dante secures drinks for us both, his eyes constantly scanning the room, assessing threats, identifying players. The ever-present vigilance of a man who knows his enemies are watching.
I sip the expensive champagne, its bubbles fizzing against my tongue. "Should we expect Nico tonight?"
"Unlikely," Dante replies, nodding acknowledgment to a well-known Italian politician across the room. "He prefers to remain invisible when possible."
"Smart man."
"Cautious man," Dante corrects.
I'm about to respond when a familiar profile catches my eye across the crowded foyer. My stomach drops and the glass in my hand freezes halfway to my lips, champagne suddenly bitter in my mouth.
No fucking way.
"Francesca?" Dante's voice penetrates the sudden rush of blood to my ears. "What is it?! Are you okay?"
I set down my glass, fingernails digging into my palm. "My father is here."
Dante follows my gaze to where Antonio Castellano stands in conversation with a group of well-dressed men. He looks exactly as I remember. Impeccably tailored tuxedo, silver-streaked hair, posture rigid with the pride that's guided his every decision.
Including the one to sell his only daughter.
"Did you know he would be here?" I ask, voice tight as I take a step back from Dante, looking him dead in the eye.
Dante's expression reveals nothing. "No."
"Dante, I swear to—"
He cuts me a glare that tells me everything I need to know. "Francesca! I didn't know he would be here. But I'm not surprised."
My blood runs molten as I watch him. The man who raised me to be the perfect mafia princess, only to discard me like a broken toy.
My fingers curl into fists at my sides. Every etiquette lesson, every carefully cultivated skill he demanded I perfect… languages, art history, classical music appreciation.