Page 9

I stand, the blade still loose in my grip. The space around her shrinks as I circle, towering over her as I examine every inch of her delicious body.

She's beautiful in her vulnerability—wet hair clinging to her neck, skin flushed with fear and something darker. Something that mirrors the heat unfurling in my chest.

I could take her right now. Pin her against the wall. Make her scream—in pleasure and then in pain.

No one would hear. No one would stop me. No one would even fuckingknow.

Except me.

I've killed men for less than what she's witnessed tonight. Ordered deaths with a nod, watched the light fade from eyes that dared to cross my family.

My fingers flex around the blade, mind drifting to my father. Vito Ravelli. The man who taught me power comes from silence, fromcontrol.

Now cancer eats through his bones like acid through metal.

I watch him waste away in that mansion, surrounded by doctors who can't save him, by loyal sons who can't protect him from his own body's betrayal.

The empire he built bleeds money. Our rivals circle like vultures, testing boundaries, pushing limits. They smell weakness in the air as the throne begins to rot. First it was mom who faltered at the throne, now my father faces the same fate.

I could fix it all.

One word from me and heads would roll. One signature and alliances would strengthen. Onefuckingpromise of succession and the Ravelli name would strike fear across Europe again.

But he won't give it. My own damn father won't name me heir. He just sits in that leather chair, staring at me with those dark fucking eyes that see straight through my armor.

"Power isn't taken through blood, Luca. It's earned through thirst."

I've earned it. With every contract signed in blood. Every rival eliminated. Everyfuckingnight spent building his legacy while he grows weaker.

The girl shifts in front of me, drawing my attention back. Her eyes hold that same defiance I see in the mirror—that hunger for control when everything else slips away.

"Are you going to kill me?" Her voice barely breaks the silence, a whisper edged with resignation rather than panic. It's the first sign of emotion I've caught, subtle… but there nonetheless.

My father would kill her. No hesitation. No mercy. Clean up the mess and move on.

But I'm not my father.

And maybe that's exactly why he won't give me the crown to our empire.

My father thinks I’m incapable of love. That I’ll never find a woman willing to kneel without chains.

Maybe he’s right.

Or maybe… she’s standing right in front of me, too exhausted to run.

I don't answer her question.

Instead, I slide the watch from my wrist—sleek black titanium, custom-made for Ravelli men. The watch face catches the dim light from the city my family rules outside the window, its diamond markers glinting like tiny stars against pitch black darkness.

I place the watch on the table and look to the girl.

"Unfortunately, our time is up. So, I leave you with a choice."

I take a breath and look at her as her brow creases.

“Take the watch. Run. Sell it for enough to start over somewhere far from this city. Disappear and don't mumble a word about what you've seen or heard tonight.”

I pause. Let her breathe in the illusion. Let her taste the fantasy shewantsto believe she still has.