21. Chapter Nineteen #2
"Because I haven't entered it since the night you arrived." I gesture to the collection of violence and death surrounding us. "Haven't felt the need to remind myself of the monster Vito created. The attack dog everyone sees when they look at me."
Understanding softens her features when I spit the words thrown at me the other night at the opera.
"Including my father."
"Your father. The Volkovs. Luca. Even Nico in his way." I step closer, drawn to her like gravity. "Everyone sees me as that person… Everyone… except you ."
"What do you think I see?" she challenges, chin lifting in that defiant gesture I've come to crave.
"A monster still," I acknowledge. "But one you've chosen. One you understand."
Her lips curve into the faintest smile. "I see more than that."
I reach for her face, cradling it between hands that have dealt death and destruction without remorse. "Francesca, you make me want to be better than what Vito made me. Better than the second choice that I've always been."
The admission costs me everything, strips away armor I've maintained since childhood.
"You don't need to be better, Dante," she corrects, leaning into my touch. "Just more complete. The monster and the man, Dante. Both are real. Both are you."
Needing to take a step back, I move to the cabinet once more, retrieving something I've kept hidden since my return from Rome.
A velvet box, small enough to fit in my palm.
"We know that the Volkovs thought you would weaken me now," I say, turning to face her. "That possessing the Castellano princess would distract me from their betrayal. From Luca's vulnerability. But they never anticipated that you would become my greatest strength."
Her eyes widen as I open the box, revealing not a diamond as most women might expect, but a signet ring matching the one I sacrificed along with my finger.
"I don't want to own you anymore, Francesca," I tell her, voice steady despite the precipice I stand upon. "I want to rule with you."
I remove the ring from its velvet nest, holding it between us like an offering.
"Blood will have blood. That's the tradition. The Ravelli way." I extend my hand, palm up. "Francesca, will you bind your blood to mine? Not as captive to captor, but now as queen to king?"
She studies me, searching for deception, for manipulation, for the games that have defined our world.
"You'll never be free of the monster," I warn, needing her to understand completely. "The darkness Vito cultivated, that I perfected… it remains. Will always remain."
"I know," she replies, stepping closer until her body nearly touches mine. "And I'm no longer the innocent you imagine. I've watched you kill without remorse. Have felt your violence. Craved more. Perhaps I've always been a monster too, just one that was waiting for permission to emerge."
She extends her hand, wrist up, offering me access to her pulse, her lifeblood. "Claim me."
I reach for the display case holding my first trophy knife. The blade catches light as I press it gently against her offered skin.
"Once done, there's no return," I warn, meeting her gaze. "The blood oath binds us completely."
"Do it," she commands, queen already in everything but title.
The blade slides against her skin, drawing a thin crimson line across her palm. She doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate as blood wells from the precise cut.
I make a matching incision across my own palm, deeper than necessary, pain a welcome clarity as our blood mingles.
" Blood to blood ," I intone, the ancient words rising from memory as our hands press together. " Life to life. Power shared, never divided. Ravelli by name, Ravelli by blood. "
" Strength in unity ," she continues, somehow knowing the script without being taught. " Loyalty… until death ."
Our joined hands form a seal, blood continuing to flow between us, binding us more completely than any legal document or church ceremony could achieve.
I slide the ring onto her finger, the metal still warm from my touch. "No longer Castellano. Now Ravelli in blood and bond."
Her palm remains pressed to mine, our mingled blood sealing the transformation from captive to queen.
"My monster," she whispers, free hand reaching up to trace my jaw. "My king."
"My salvation," I admit, the word torn from somewhere I've kept buried since childhood. "My queen."
I claim her mouth with mine, tasting her surrender and triumph in equal measure. Her body arches into me, blood still warm between our joined hands as my free arm circles her waist, pulling her flush against me.
The kiss deepens, becomes something primal and possessive. I back her against the display case, lifting her onto its edge, weapons and trophies surrounding us as I push her dress up her thighs.
She spreads her legs in invitation, our bloody hands still pressed together as my mouth trails down her throat. I taste salt and sweetness, her pulse racing beneath my tongue as I descend to her breasts, teasing through the thin fabric of her dress.
"I need to taste all of you," I growl against her skin.
I drop to my knees before her, the position not one of submission but of worship. My bloody hand finally releases hers to grip her thigh, pushing her legs wider as I move between them with a fierce growl.
I push her dress higher, revealing black lace already damp with evidence of her desire.
"Mine," I murmur against her inner thigh, where my mark remains etched into her flesh. "Always mine."
"Yes," she gasps, hands tangling in my hair as I tear the lace barrier aside with impatient fingers.
The first stroke of my tongue against her core draws a desperate moan from her lips. She tastes like power and surrender, like everything I've hunted my entire life.
I devour her with the same brutal focus I bring to violence, to strategy, to conquest. My tongue circles her clit before dipping inside, gathering her wetness, feeling her thighs tremble around my head.
I slide two fingers into her slick heat. Blood from my palm marks her inner thigh, a primitive claiming that satisfies something ancient in me.
Her release builds quickly, walls tightening around my fingers as my tongue works her clit with relentless pressure. When she comes, her body shudders violently as pleasure claims her.
I rise to my feet, unfastening my trousers with desperate need. My cock springs free, hard and aching for her.
I lift her from the display case, turning her to face it, bending her over the glass that contains evidence of my violent past. Her hands brace against it, bloody palm leaving a perfect red print on her skin as I position myself at her entrance.
"Tell me you're mine," I demand, the head of my cock teasing her sensitive flesh.
"I'm yours," she responds without hesitation.
I enter her with one powerful thrust, burying myself in her tight cunt. The guttural sound that tears from my throat is barely human as I establish a punishing rhythm, claiming her body as completely as she's claimed my soul.
My hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise, to smear the blood that mixed between us, bonded us with a physical evidence of possession to match the emotional surrender I've given her tonight.
Each thrust drives her against the display case, weapons and trophies witnessing our primal union.
"You're perfect," I tell her, one hand sliding up her spine to grip her hair. "Perfect for me. Perfect queen. Perfect monster."
Her responding moan drives me closer to the edge, her body accepting every brutal thrust as if designed for me alone. I reach around to circle her clit, determined to feel her come around my cock.
"Again," I command, feeling my own release building at the base of my spine. "Come again. Let me feel you."
Her body obeys, inner walls clamping down on my length as she shatters a second time, the spasms pushing me over the edge. I empty myself inside her with a hoarse shout of her name, marking her from the inside as my blood has marked her from the out.
For long moments after, we remain joined, my body curled protectively over hers as our breathing slowly returns to normal. The blood on our palms has begun to dry, a permanent covenant sealed in this room of death and violence.
I help her straighten, turning her to face me, struck by the transformation I see in her eyes. No longer captive, no longer even partner.
Queen in truth now. My equal in every way that matters.
"The blood oath ceremony," I tell her, brushing hair from her face with my unblooded hand. "We'll complete it properly. It needs to be official. With witnesses. With proper ritual that will warn the underworld we're about to strike."
She nods, intertwining her fingers with mine, blood binding us further. "And then?"
"Then we take what's mine. What's ours ." I press my forehead to hers, sharing breath, sharing purpose. "The throne. The empire. Everything."
Her smile matches mine, predatory and determined. "Together."
"Together," I agree, knowing that the monster Vito created has found its perfect mate in this woman who entered my life as merchandise and transformed into salvation.
The blood continues to dry between our palms, a covenant no power on earth could break.
Queen and king. Monster and monster.
Bound by blood and darkness and most surprisingly… love .