Page 84 of Fire and Silk
We collapse together, her body soft and pliant beneath me, both of us panting, slick with sweat. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I press a kiss to her temple, tasting the salt of her skin. She smiles, soft and sated, her eyes half-lidded as she looks up at me.
“Again?” she murmurs, voice teasing, and I laugh, low and rough, already feeling the stir of want building again.
****
Dantès Estate – Study
The morning light spills across the floor in long ribbons, fractured through high-set windows. The air smells like parchment and ink, dust disturbed by fresh breath. I’ve tied my hair back, knotted at the base of my neck. Lira sits across from me in a white dress that looks as though it might bruise iftouched too hard. Her bandaged palm rests beside mine on the mahogany desk, the mirrored strips of gauze clean but clearly used.
Between us lies the original bond.
The paper is older than both of us. Faded at the edges, worn soft by age but sealed and notarized under my father's name and Chiara Falco's. Stamped. Inked. A document drawn in love and sealed in blood, then locked in a private bank account meant to never be touched—unless destiny demanded it.
Matteo stands behind us, arms folded. His shirt is tucked neatly today, which means he expects trouble. He lays a slim leather folder on the desk and opens it slowly.
“It’s done,” he says. “Went to the bank this morning. Told them I was collecting on behalf of Lira Falco. Had the legal affidavit ready. No one asked questions. I showed them her ID and the code tied to the account. It’s hers. Officially.”
He nods toward the old paper. “And now… it’s yours.”
Lira’s fingers twitch slightly beside mine.
I offer her the pen.
She takes it.
Her handwriting is neat. Smoother than I expected, firm where it should waver. She signs her name first. Lira Falco. Then a pause—long, still. Her gaze flicks to me. I tilt my head slightly. She nods again and adds the final stroke. Falco-Dante.
My signature is already there. I never removed it.
Matteo exhales.
“Let the games begin,” he mutters, voice flat as cold steel.
I look over at her. Her eyes are sharp—not with fear, but focus. The kind of focus that makes queens out of daughters and predators out of prey.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
She lifts her chin. “I am.”
Matteo leaves the room silently and returns three minutes later. The door clicks . Two lawyers step in first—both briefcases, clean suits, oily smiles. Behind them, Maksim and Mina.
They do not look pleased.
Mina’s arms are already crossed, her fingers clenching the silk of her sleeve. Maksim slumps into the nearest chair without a greeting.
“Why do we need to be here?” he grumbles, glancing between the documents and my face. “Make it quick.”
I smile, fingers resting on the signed bond like it’s a loaded weapon.
“Oh, I intend to.”
Mina slides into the seat beside Maksim like she owns the air between them. Her legs cross at the ankle, her voice calm and clipped.
“Brother,” she says, lips curled into something between a smile and a warning, “be nice to our little brother. Maybe he wants to play nice and concede his place.”
I return her look with a grin that feels easy. “Thank you for showing up on such short notice.”
I don’t let them sit comfortably in their assumptions. With one smooth motion, I push the signed bond across thetable to the lawyers. The older one adjusts his glasses, while the younger begins unfolding the pages.
