Page 34 of Savage Devotion

She turns from the window and looks at me. "I'm thinking this is strange, you know. Being here with you… traveling like a normal couple when we're anything but."

"Normal is overrated," I observe, sipping my champagne. "Normal people live small lives in small worlds with small ambitions. We are not them."

"True. But what are your ambitions, Dante?" she asks softly. "Beyond your brother's throne?"

The question catches me off-guard. Not because I don't know the answer, but because no one has asked it in such a direct manner before.

"I strive for the power of my families empire," I reply automatically, like I've rehearsed the line a million times before. "I want territory. Respect. Wealth and fortune."

She tilts her head slightly. "All of those things are means, not ends, Dante. What do you want the powerfor?"

Again, she surprises me with her perception, forcing me to examine ambitions I've never fully articulated. Even to myself.

"I guess I want to build something greater than my father imagined. To be feared when necessary, but respected always." I pause, swirling the champagne in my glass. "By the time I am done, I hope to leave a legacy that outlives me."

"So you want children?" she asks bluntly, her gaze unwavering.

The question strikes an unexpected chord.Children. Heirs. Continuation of my bloodline.

These concepts have always existed as abstract necessities rather than desires.

Until now.

Until I picture Francesca round with my child, her golden eyes reflected in a son or daughter who would inherit everything I've fought to build.

The thought of children brings my mind back to Luca and Bianca. Soon they'll parade their heir at a masquerade similar to the one we will attend, flaunting the future ofmyfamily's empire.

I grip my glass tighter, remembering the surveillance footage of Bianca's swollen belly at the coronation.

That should have been mine. Everything Luca has—the throne, the ring, the legacy, thepower—was meant for me. Nowhe'll have a child to cement his claim, to carry on the Ravelli name while I...

I glance at Francesca. She doesn't realize she's awakened something darker, more possessive inside of me. The image of her carrying my heir burns through my mind. What better way to stake my claim than to create a new bloodline, one untainted by dirty Volkov blood like my brothers will be?

The champagne turns bitter on my tongue. I set down my glass before I shatter it.

"Perhaps," I concede, surprised by my own response. "One day, I might consider having a child. But only with the right queen."

Her cheeks flush slightly, but before she can respond, Marco approaches with security concerns that require my attention in the cockpit. When I return, Francesca has moved to the couch near the window, a book open in her lap, her face serene as she reads.

I take a moment to simply observe her… this woman who entered my life as a pawn but is rapidly becoming something far more dangerous.

Something essential.

***

Paris greets us with perfect autumn weather, the city shimmering beneath a clear blue sky as our SUV winds through its historic streets.

Through the bulletproof window, Francesca watches the landmarks pass. First the Arc de Triomphe, then the Champs-Élysées, and finally the Seine flowing like a silver ribbon through the heart of the city.

"It's been five years since I was last here," she says quietly, almost to herself. "For my graduate studies."

"The Sorbonne," I recall from her dossier. "Art history and economics. A curious combination."

She smiles faintly. "My father's choice and mine. A compromise of sorts."

"Did you enjoy your time here?"

"It was the freest I've ever been," she admits, eyes still on the passing scenery. "My father's surveillance was less obvious. I could pretend, sometimes, that I was just another student. Just a normal girl."

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