Page 45 of Savage Devotion

I pace the terracotta floor, my footsteps echoing through the villa.

"I thought acquiring you would secure their loyalty. The Castellano princess—the perfect bargaining chip." I pause, looking at her. "But Bianca's child carries Volkov blood. My brother's wife, the former fuckingmaid, somehow outranks you in their eyes."

I slam my fist against the wall, welcoming the sharp pain that shoots up my arm.

"Dmitri Volkov sees that unborn child as his legacy. A bloodline connection more valuable than any territory I could offer." I laugh, the sound hollow and painfully raw. "Luca doesn't even realize what he has. He thinks he married a nobody, but he married the one thing that could have secured my throne."

Francesca approaches me slowly, like one might approach a wounded predator. "So the Volkovs are playing both sides."

"It seems they're hedging their bets," I agree.

The rage that has been simmering beneath my skin threatens to boil over. I grab Francesca's wrist, pulling her against me.

"I will not be second choice again," I growl against her ear. "Not to my father, not to the Volkovs, not to anyone."

Francesca's eyes search mine. "It bothers you more than I thought. Not just the throne, but their child."

"Theheir," I specify. "It's more than a child, Francesca. It's my father's grandchild. The continuation of the Ravelli line. The line that he chose to run through my brother rather than me."

"Is that what you want, Dante? Children? Is that what this is all about?"

The question is direct, uncompromising.

I turn back to the window, considering her words. Children have always been abstract concepts. Necessary for legacy, for continuation of power, but nothing more than that.

Yet seeing Bianca had awakened something unexpected deep down inside of me.

"I want what's mine," I say finally. "Everything that should have been mine from the beginning."

Francesca steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. "Tell me, Dante. What am I in this equation? Still just property to be claimed? Or something more?"

The question hangs between us, heavier than it has any right to be.

"Because from what you just said, it sounds like you wish for Bianca to be your wife, not me."

My eyes cut to hers. "Never!"

"Then what, Dante? What do you want from me?" Francesca's eyes glaze over, threatening to split my heart right down the fucking middle.

"You were meant to be a symbol," I admit, meeting her gaze directly. "Proof that I could take what I wanted. That I was powerful enough to claim a Castellano princess and make her mine."

"And now?"

I reach for her face, fingers tracing the delicate curve of her cheek. "Now you're becoming something I never expected. Something I'm not entirely prepared for."

Her hand covers mine, holding it against her skin. "Are you afraid, Dante Ravelli?"

"I fear nothing," I reply automatically.

Her smile is knowing, almost sad. "Everyone fears something, Dante. Even monsters."

***

The afternoon finds us on the terrace, golden Italian sunlight bathing everything in honeyed warmth. Maria has brought refreshments in the way of incredible local wine, fresh bread, olives, and cheese.

Francesca has changed into a simple sundress from the wardrobe I had prepared for her, her dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail. The casual elegance suits her just as much as last night's formal gown.

I lean against the stone balustrade, glass of wine in hand, watching her as she samples the local delicacies.

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