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I step closer, inhaling her scent—fear and arousal and defiance creating an intoxicating perfume. "This isn't about proving anything, princess. It's about claiming what's mine." I reach out, fisting a handful of her dark hair, tugging her head back to expose the vulnerable column of her throat. "And judging by the smell of you… your body already knows who owns it. Soon, your mind will follow."

"And if I never accept it?" she challenges, eyes like molten amber. "If I fight you every day, every hour, every minute that you keep me prisoner?"

My smile makes her shiver visibly.

"Then we'll have a very entertaining time together, won't we?" I release her hair, stepping back. "Rest. Have dinner. Your new life begins tomorrow, and you'll need your strength."

As I turn to leave, her voice stops me at the threshold.

"Dante."

I think it's the sound of my name on her lips that stops me so suddenly. Or the fact she's addressed me so casually, like we're old friends running into each other on the street.

I turn back to face her. "Yes?"

"Why me?" she asks, genuine confusion drawing her brows inward. "You could have demanded territory, money, power. Why a woman you don't even know?"

I look back at her, this fierce, beautiful creature who doesn't yet understand her value. Who doesn't realize that in choosing her, I've chosen the most valuable piece on the board.

Seems I still have work to do before she's ready.

"Because, Francesca Castellano, in our world, a king needs a queen. And I intend to take everything my brother has. Including a throne that should be mine already."

I close the door behind me, the electronic lock engaging.

Outside, I flex my hand, remembering the feel of her skin beneath my fingers, the trembling she couldn't control, the defiance she maintained despite everything.

Breaking her will be exquisite indeed.

And when she finally surrenders—when she acknowledges me as her king, her master, her everything—the victory will taste all the sweeter for the battle that preceded it.

Chapter Four

Francesca

My body aches.

The fresh tattoo on my inner thigh throbs with every movement, a constant reminder of my new status as property.

Or should I say…merchandise.

I press my palms against the cool window of the bedroom, staring down at London sprawled beneath me. The height is dizzying, purposefully so, I imagine. Even if I could break the reinforced glass, the fall would kill me instantly.

Three days of captivity have already taught me the boundaries of my new world. The penthouse spans the entire top floor of this exclusive building, its luxury a carefully crafted façade over my involuntary imprisonment.

Everything is sleek, dark, masculine. From the leather furniture to the steel accents… all of it speaks of the wealth and power of the Ravelli family.

And everything, absolutelyeverything, belongs to Dante Ravelli.

In my free time, I've spent hours exploring, memorizing, cataloging every potential weakness. The elevator requires a key card I don't possess. The stairwell door has a biometric lock keyed to Dante's fingerprints. The balcony doors remain sealed at all times. Even the windows won't open more than a few inches. Just enough to allow fresh air inside, not enough for escape outside.

There are also fucking cameras everywhere.

Tiny, nearly invisible lenses watching from corners, from light fixtures, from decorative elements. I've counted seventeen so far, each one tracking my movements into even the smallest of corners.

I am never truly alone.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.