24. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Francesca uses his momentary distraction to drive her knee upward, connecting with his groin. He doubles over with a strangled grunt and Spanish cussing, releasing her as she steps smoothly aside.
"Perfect timing," she says, straightening her dress with dignified calm. "Though I had the situation under control."
Ignoring her for the moment, I cross the room, grabbing Dominguez by his expensive shirt collar and hauling him upright. My fist connects with his face, the satisfying crunch of cartilage filling the room as his nose shatters beneath my knuckles.
Blood sprays across imported marble tiles. A minor inconvenience to clean compared to what I have planned for him.
I hammer my fist into his face again, and again, and again.
"You put your hands on my wife," I growl so harshly my voice scratches my throat. "You touched what belongs to me."
Dominguez spits blood, eyes darting between Francesca and me. "Business... this was business..."
"No," I correct him, delivering another blow that splits his lip. "This was suicide."
From my jacket, I withdraw a ceramic blade similar to the one I used to carve the Ravelli crest into Francesca's thigh on the night I claimed her.
Tonight, it will serve a different purpose.
"Xavier Dominguez," I say formally, watching fear bloom in his eyes. "You have violated the most basic principle of our world. Respect for another man's territory."
"This was a trap!" he pleas with a pathetic tone.
"Dante—" Francesca begins, but I silence her with a look.
"The ports!" Dominguez gasps, desperation replacing arrogance. "I can give you access. Full clearance. Everything you want."
"I'm afraid it's too late for negotiation." I smile, the expression entirely devoid of warmth. "But your offer is noted."
I spin him around, arm locked around his throat in a grip that cuts off his air supply. The blade gleams in the stateroom's lighting as I position it against his throat.
"The access codes," I demand. "Now."
Fear makes him compliant. Between strangled breaths, he recites numerical sequences for both Algeciras and Valencia ports. Marco records them on his phone and Vincent taps on his tablet.
"Verified," Vincent confirms after a quick check against the system parameters we'd already gathered. "We're in."
"Good. Change the codes. These ports are Ravelli ports now." I loosen my grip just enough for Dominguez to catch his breath. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"We... we're done then?" Hope flickers across his bloodied face.
"Almost."
The blade slides across his throat. Not deep enough for immediate death, but enough to ensure his last minutes on earth are spent in the awareness of his own mortality.
Blood cascades down his expensive shirt, staining fabric and skin alike as he collapses to his knees before me. His hands clutch at his throat, eyes wide with the realization that his empire ends tonight.
I watch impassively as he falls forward, life draining onto imported marble in spreading pools of red blood.
When the final death rattle confirms his departure, I crouch beside his body.
"Dante?" Francesca's voice comes from behind me. "What are you doing?"
I don't answer her.
Because this kill wasn't like the others. The countless men I've murdered for power, territory, or simple revenge.
No, this death was for her.
For daring to put his hands on what's mine.
My father would call this weakness. Vito Ravelli believed that love made men soft, made them vulnerable. But as I watch the last flicker of life fades from his eyes, I know differently.
This kill feels purer than any that came before.
Because I didn't just eliminate a business rival or remove an obstacle… I protected what's mine.
With careful movements, I detach the diamond cufflink from his right wrist. A trophy for my collection. My first in months. A reminder of what happens to those who touch what belongs to me.
"Clean this up," I instruct Marco. "No witnesses. No evidence."
"Already arranged," he confirms, opening a secure line to the cleanup crew waiting on standby.
I turn to Francesca, who stands watching me with an unreadable expression. Blood speckles the emerald silk of her dress, a few drops having landed on her pale skin during Dominguez's final moments.
"Are you hurt?" I ask, crossing to her, hands running over her arms, her shoulders, tilting her chin to examine where his fingers gripped her throat.
"I'm fine," she replies, pulling away from my inspection. "But we just lost our only direct connection to the Spanish ports. I had him, Dante. Another few minutes and I would have secured everything we needed without violence. Without… this. "
I follow Francesca's gaze to Dominguez's corpse, blood still seeping across the polished deck.
A flash of fury surges through me. "He had his hands on you!"
"That was part of the plan! I was handling it!"
"And the plan changed the moment he threatened you," I counter, blood still hot in my veins. "No one touches what's mine. No one. "
Her eyes narrow, and for the first time in weeks, I'm reminded of the look she gave me on those very first few nights we spent together. "So this was about your ego? Your ownership over me? Not our strategic objective?"
"This was about protecting what belongs to me," I growl, crowding her against the stateroom wall. "About showing the world what happens to those who cross Dante Ravelli."
"You sound exactly like him!" Francesca points to the floor. "I am not a possession to be protected. I am your queen. Your partner. I don't need rescuing like some damsel in a fucking fairy tale!"
The fire in her eyes, the defiance in her posture, only inflames the primal need burning through me. This woman, covered in another man's blood yet unbroken, unafraid, unleashes something dark and hungry in my soul.
I capture her face between my hands, thumbs pressing against her jawline.
"You are mine, Francesca. Mine to protect. Mine to avenge. The blood oath made it official, but you were mine from the moment I first saw you."
I pull the diamond cufflink from my pocket, rolling it between my fingers, reminding me of every trophy I've collected over the years.
Each one marking a kill, a victory, a step toward power. Just like this moment.
"Do you know why I stopped taking trophies after you came into my life?" I ask, watching her face. "Because for the first time, I had something worth more than revenge or power. Something that made me want to be... different."
Francesca's eyes track the movement of the cufflink.
"But watching him touch you..." My jaw clenches at the memory. "Watching him put his hands on what's mine... I needed this. Needed to mark the moment I chose you over strategy. Over empire. Over everything, Francesca. Over fucking everything. "
I step closer, crowding her against the wall. "Do you have any fucking idea how hard it was? Sitting there, watching him lean into you, watching you smile at him? Every cell in my body screamed to rip him apart. But I trusted you. Trusted us."
My free hand cups her face, thumb tracing her lower lip.
"And then he threatened you, and I realized something I've been fighting since the moment you came into my life."
Francesca's breath catches, her pulse racing beneath my touch.
"I love you," I growl, the words ripping from my chest. "I, Dante fucking Ravelli, who was taught that love is weakness, that attachment is death... I love you. And I will burn this whole fucking world to ash before I let anyone harm you."
Francesca's lips part, then close again. Her eyes search my face, looking for... what? Deception? Manipulation?
I don't fucking know.
I just take a step back, adjusting my blood-stained cuffs.
"You don't need to say anything," I tell her. "I didn't say it to hear it back."
I straighten my shoulders, feeling oddly... free. The admission hasn't weakened me as my father always warned.
Instead, I feel fucking invincible. Like I could take on Luca, the Volkovs, and every other family foolish enough to stand against us.
Because now there's no more pretending. No more strategic moves disguised as possession. No more lying to myself about what she means to me.
I am Dante Ravelli. I am a monster of my father's making.
And I love this woman.