24. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dante
I pace like a caged predator in the surveillance room of The Vengeance , my eyes never leaving the bank of monitors before me.
Every muscle in my body coils with tension as I watch Francesca work her magic across the water on Dominguez's yacht.
My queen moves with perfect grace. Each smile calculated. Each touch deliberate. The emerald dress clings to curves that belong to me, exposing skin that bears my marks to another man's hungry gaze.
"Zoom in," I command Marco, who operates the feed beside me.
The camera hidden in Francesca's diamond earring offers a perfect view of Dominguez's face as she leans closer to him. The Spanish shipping magnate's eyes darken with desire, his pupils dilating as she whispers something that makes him laugh.
The sound of his laughter scrapes against my nerves like a blade on bone.
"Sir," Vincent says quietly from his position by the door. "Perhaps you should—"
"Silence," I snap, not taking my eyes from the screen. "I need to hear every fucking word."
The microphone embedded in the camera captures Dominguez's voice with irritating clarity.
" Such fascinating stories you tell, belleza ," his accented voice oozes through the speakers. " About your... hunger for passion and power. "
Francesca's laugh floats back, a sound I've come to crave when we're alone, now deployed as a weapon against my enemy. The vial of our blood remains visible between her breasts, swinging gently with each movement, a declaration of ownership that simultaneously enrages and satisfies me.
" You see, not all cages feel like prisons, Xavier ," she responds with perfect lightness to her voice, a sound that has my hands squeezing tight beside me. " Sometimes they become... thrones. "
" And does Ravelli know his queen has wandered into another king's territory tonight? "
I grip the edge of the console, knuckles whitening as Dominguez's hand slides up Francesca's bare arm. My mark on her throat stands out against her pale skin, a bruise I left deliberately to brand her as mine.
Part of me burns with primal rage watching another man's hands on what's mine. Part of me, maybe the strategic monster my father created, recognizes the necessity.
We need those Spanish ports. We need the access codes only Dominguez possesses.
So I force myself to breathe. To focus. To remember that this is business, not betrayal.
" Would you like to see the view from my private quarters? " Dominguez suggests, his intention transparent. " The stars over the Mediterranean are particularly beautiful tonight. "
" I'd love that, " Francesca replies, her voice carrying the perfect blend of interest and innocence.
The camera angle shifts as they move, giving us glimpses of opulent corridors leading deeper into the yacht.
"Sir, are you sure she will be safe?" Marco asks quietly.
"She knows what she's doing," I reply, though my jaw clenches as Dominguez ushers her through a door into what must be his own private stateroom.
The space is as ostentatious as the man himself. Gold fixtures. Marble surfaces. Artwork worth millions displayed with casual arrogance. A massive bed sits against one wall, its purpose in tonight's seduction obvious even to a blind man.
" Such a beautiful space, " Francesca observes, moving to examine a painting with deliberate grace. " Goya, isn't it? Original, I assume. "
" Of course. " Dominguez approaches her from behind, standing closer than necessary. " I accept nothing less than authentic treasures in my collection. "
His eyes linger on her body in a way that makes my blood boil. The fucking comparison is clear. She's another treasure he intends to claim. Another acquisition for his collection.
" Speaking of treasures, " Francesca pivots expertly, maintaining distance while drawing him into conversation. " I've heard fascinating things about your port operations in southern Spain. "
Dominguez smiles, pouring two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. " Business already? I had hoped we might... enjoy each other's company first. "
Through the camera, I watch her hand accept the drink, appearing to take the smallest possible sip while still maintaining eye contact.
Every movement she makes is a perfect performance. The Castellano princess groomed for strategic alliance, now deployed as the Ravelli queen.
" I find business can be quite... pleasurable with the right partner, " she tells him, allowing her fingertips to brush his.
The Spanish magnate's breathing visibly changes at her touch. " As do I, belleza. As do I. "
For the next thirty minutes, I'm forced to watch this exquisite torture. Francesca expertly navigates the conversation, steering Dominguez closer to our objective while maintaining just enough distance to keep him pursuing.
She's fucking brilliant.
Mentioning shipping routes casually between flirtatious comments. Dropping hints about Volkov vulnerabilities. Creating the illusion of shared enemies without explicitly naming names.
Pride battles with possessive rage in my chest. This is my queen. My partner. My most lethal weapon.
And yet each time Dominguez moves closer, each time his eyes linger on her breasts or his fingers brush against her skin, I feel something dangerous rising within me. Something dark and violent that my father would have called weakness.
" You know, Francesca, " Dominguez says finally, setting aside his third drink. " As wonderful as this all is… I find myself wondering what Dante Ravelli would say if he could see his bride now... "
" My husband understands the nature of our business, " she replies smoothly. " Sometimes negotiations require... personal touch. "
" And how personal are you willing to be? " Dominguez asks, stepping into her space. " For access to my ports? "
Francesca maintains her composure, but I feel the shudder of her shoulders as Dominguez reaches out to touch the blood vial resting between her breasts.
" This is quite the unusual accessory, " he observes, his fingers lingering between the sweet divide between my property. " Blood oath, yes? An ancient tradition. Very... medieval. "
" It's a symbol of loyalty, " she replies, her voice cooling slightly. " Of bonds not easily broken. "
" Yet here you are, without your husband. " Dominguez's hand remains at her chest, his thumb now stroking the side of her breast. " Seeking favors from a man he knows would happily destroy him. "
Something shifts in the atmosphere. The predatory gleam in Dominguez's eyes intensifies as his other hand moves to Francesca's waist, pulling her closer.
" Perhaps we should negotiate terms more... directly, " he suggests, his intent unmistakable as he begins backing her toward the massive bed.
Francesca places a hand against his chest, maintaining distance. " I think there's been a misunderstanding, Xavier. I'm here to discuss business opportunities that benefit us both. "
" And I'm offering you exactly that, " he insists, his grip tightening somewhere that I can't see. " Access to my ports in exchange for access to what belongs to Ravelli. A fair trade, no? "
I'm already moving toward the door when Dominguez's hand appears to slide up to grip Francesca's throat, his thumb pressing against the mark I left there earlier.
" Or perhaps, " he continues, voice hardening, " you should consider what happens to those who waste my time. Who play games they can't finish. "
"Prepare the launch," I bark at Marco, already striding toward the deck. "Now!"
Behind me, I hear Francesca's response through the speakers, her voice calm despite Dominguez's increasing aggression.
" I assure you, Xavier, no one is playing games. If you'll just— "
" No more talking, " he interrupts, and the camera angle lurches as he shoves her backward. " I think it's time to show you how real men handle business negotiations. "
The feed shows Francesca struggling against his grip, maintaining composure despite the danger.
She's been trained for this. Has the skills to extract herself.
But some lines cannot be crossed. Some offenses cannot be tolerated.
My woman. My queen. Mine.
The motorized launch cuts through dark water, Marco at the controls while I check my weapon. In what feels like seconds later, we're boarding La Conquistadora from the rear access point.
I move through the yacht like a shadow, dodging the guests on the upper deck, Vincent and Marco flanking behind me as we descend toward Dominguez's stateroom.
The corridor is mercifully empty, most guests still enjoying the deck party above. Through the earpiece, I hear Francesca's voice, still controlled but tighter now.
" Stop! You're making a mistake, Xavier. One that will cost you everything. "
" The only mistake, " Dominguez replies, " was Ravelli thinking he could send his whore to seduce me without consequences. Did he really believe I'd fall for such a transparent ploy? "
I reach the stateroom door, testing the handle. Locked. I signal to Marco, who prepares a small charge while Vincent secures the corridor.
" You know nothing about my husband, " Francesca says, and I hear the dangerous edge in her voice now. The queen emerging from behind the seductress's mask. " Or what he'll do when he discovers you've touched me. "
Dominguez laughs, the sound ugly through the microphone. " I'm counting on it, belleza. Let him come. Let him learn what happens when Ravellis cross the wrong— "
The door blows inward, fragments of expensive wood scattering across marble floors. There are shouts from above, but Marco is on it.
I enter first, gun drawn, to find Dominguez with one hand tangled in Francesca's hair, the other gripping her throat.
Our eyes meet across the room, and I see the moment he recognizes his own mortality.
"You called?" I ask pleasantly, voice at odds with the murderous rage pumping through my veins.