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The taste of her mouth pulls me back to life more effectively than any medication. Her tongue slides against mine, and I groan at the contact, at the flood of desire that overwhelms physical pain.

But then, she pulls back and breaks us apart, both breathing heavily. She rests her forehead against mine.

"Dante, we can't. The doctor said you need to rest."

"Fuck the doctor," I growl, my good hand already sliding beneath her shirt, finding the warm skin of her back.

She laughs softly, the sound like music after the gunfire and alarms of our escape.

"Later. After you're healed. I promise." She catches my wandering hand, bringing it to her lips to place a kiss against my palm. "I need you at full strength, not bleeding all over Maria's clean sheets."

I reluctantly concede, allowing her to adjust pillows behind me so I can sit more comfortably. From this position, I can see beyond the bedroom to the terrace where Mediterranean light bathes ancient stones.

"I never imagined this," I admit, the words emerging unbidden. "You, here, tending to me. Caring for my wounds. When I first brought you to the villa..."

"When you first kidnapped me, you mean," she corrects, though there's no bitterness in her tone anymore.

"I took you to Paris first!" I laugh, nudging her with my fist. "But you're right. When I firstkidnappedyou, I saw only an acquisition. A symbol of my power. A way to prove I could take what I wanted."

Her expression softens. "And now?"

I study her face—the intelligence in her eyes, the strength in her jawline, the softness of her lips that hide a razor-sharp mind that's helping me in ways I never imagined.

Because of her, I'm nearly there.

She secured Dominguez's ports through pure intelligence, no bloodshed needed until he forced my hand. She helped outmaneuvered the Beaumonts at that first masquerade in Paris without speaking a word of threat. She spotted the weaknessin Vladimir's security detail that let us save Antonio. Knew exactly which of my father's old allies to approach about the Mediterranean routes.

The woman can speak multiple languages. She knows every major family's history and alliances. Can read a room faster than my best security teams,andhandles negotiations that would have ended in bloodshed if it were me instead.

"And now…"

I bring my hand to her face, touching her every so softly.

"You make me think before I kill. Question if violence is always the answer." I swallow hard. "You make me want to build something lasting instead of just burning it all down."

My thumb traces her lower lip. "You make me feel human again."

"And that's not weakness?" she asks softly.

"No." I pull her closer, ignoring the protest of my wounds. "It's evolution. Something I've needed since I was a child."

She climbs carefully onto the bed beside me, nestling against my uninjured side. Her head rests on my chest, her breath warm against my skin.

As I start to let my mind wander, my own brother's betrayal starts to burn like acid in my veins. But watching Francesca's desperate need to save Antonio awakened something I've long suppressed.

The recognition that some bonds transcend reason, transcend even self-preservation.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asks after several minutes of comfortable silence.

"About what?"

"Children." The word falls between us, heavy with implication. "A family beyond the empire we're building."

I think of Bianca's swollen belly at the masquerade, of Luca's protective hand resting there. Of the reports from Vladimir indicating complications with the pregnancy.

The thought of Francesca carrying my child, spawn created with a mixture of her fierce intelligence and my dark determination. A child with her beautiful golden eyes perhaps, but with my strategic mind.

A perfect heir for the empire we're building.