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Dante's eyebrows rise slightly, impressed despite himself. "You've been strategizing while recovering." He looks at me. "How come he's allowed to do that and I'm not?"

"Not much else to do when sleep is... difficult," Antonio replies, saving me from the daggers Dante's shooting me.

"Show me your thoughts," Dante requests, pulling maps toward them as breakfast becomes a working meal.

As they dive into shipping routes and strategic choke points, I watch them with a sense of surreal wonder.

My brother and my husband—for that's what Dante has become in every way that matters—working together as if they've been allies for years rather than forced companions for days.

Maria slides in beside me, her weathered hand patting mine gently. "Elena would have liked you," she says quietly. "She would have seen herself in your strength."

I turn to her, touched by the comparison. "I wish I could have known her."

"She believed in balancing the darkness with light," Maria continues, her gaze moving to Dante, who gestures animatedly as he explains a strategic position to Antonio. "In finding beauty amid ugliness. Like you do for him."

I follow her gaze, studying the man who captured and claimed me, who has now become the center of my world. The monster who shows me only tenderness. The king who treats me as his equal.

"He does the same for me," I admit softly. "Beneath all that darkness, there's a light only I get to see."

Maria nods, satisfied. "As it should be."

***

The phone call comes late afternoon as we lounge in the garden, enjoying rare moments of peace before tomorrow's return to London.

Marco appears on the terrace, his expression grim. "Mr. Ravelli. It's Vladimir."

Dante takes the phone, moving a short distance away for privacy. From my position on the lounge chair, I watch his expression harden, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side.

What now?

When he returns, his face is carefully controlled, but I know him well enough now to recognize the tension in his jaw, the darkness gathering in his eyes.

"What is it?" I ask, already rising from my seat.

His gaze shifts to Antonio, then back to me. He swallows, a big enough gulp to send a shiver right through my body.

"There's been an incident."

Antonio sits up straighter, instantly alert. "What kind of incident?"

"Vladimir just received confirmation from his sources in Milan," Dante says carefully. "Antonio Castellano Sr. was found dead in his office this morning."

The world tilts violently beneath my feet.

"Father?" My voice sounds distant, foreign to my own ears. "No, that's not... he was in Vienna. He had security—"

"The Volkovs sent a hit squad," Dante continues, his hand finding mine, anchoring me as reality threatens to shatter around me. "I'm sorry, princess."

Tears sting my eyes and I feel the world sway in a dizzy haze around me. Dante's arms wrap around me, the only thing steading me as I look to my brother—the only family I have left on planet earth.

Antonio rises, his face draining of color. "How?"

"Single shot to the head. Seems it was… professional." Dante's grip on my hand tightens. "But they left... a message."

My blood runs cold at his hesitation. "What message?"

Dante shakes his head. He swallows again, the words not falling from his mouth.