Page 24

When Vincent mentions Luca's recent movements, I feel her attention sharpen, her body tensing subtly against mine.

Interesting.

She's not just enduring this. She's listening, gathering information, strategizing even in her humiliation.

My perfect girl.

As the meeting draws to a close, I notice Marco's gaze lingering too long on the curve of Francesca's breast. Something primitive and possessive rises in me, a white-hot rage that surprises even me with its intensity.

"That will be all," I say, my tone dropping to a register that makes my lieutenants straighten. "Vincent, prepare the documentation for the poker tournament. Sophia, I want backgrounds on every player within forty-eight hours."

They rise, preparing to leave. Marco's eyes drift to Francesca once more, and something must show in my expression because Vincent quickly grabs his arm, steering him toward the door.

When we're alone, I lift Francesca from my lap, setting her on her feet before removing my suit jacket and wrapping itaround her shoulders. The garment engulfs her smaller frame, the expensive wool hiding her exposed skin from view.

Her eyes widen in surprise at the gesture.

"Why—" she begins.

"The show is over. Your body is for my eyes only," I state simply. "You've performed well today. Return to your room and wait for me there."

For a moment, she looks as if she might argue. Instead, she clutches the jacket closer, her fingers white-knuckled against the dark fabric.

"Yes, Dante," she replies, the forced submission in her tone belied by the rebellion burning in her eyes.

I watch her leave, my jacket draped around her like a claim of ownership more potent than any diamond.

I find her an hour later, sitting at the window in her bedroom, still wrapped in my jacket despite the warm temperature I maintain in here for her.

She's drawn her knees to her chest beneath the garment, making herself smaller. Her hair falls forward, obscuring her face, but I can feel the fury radiating from her in waves.

"You can take it off now," I command, closing the door behind me.

She looks up, eyes blazing. "Which? The jacket or what's beneath it? Or does it matter, since apparently I'm just furniture to be displayed for your business associates?"

I approach slowly, savoring her controlled rage. "The jacket, Francesca. Keep the lingerie on. I enjoy looking at what belongs to me."

She stands, shrugging off the garment and letting it fall to the floor between us. She's fully exposed again in the black lace, but she somehow appears more powerful than before, her near-nudity transformed into armor through sheer force of will.

"Dante… I've never been so humiliated," she says, voice steady despite the emotion behind it. "Not even when my father paraded me before potential husbands like breeding stock."

"Your father was a fool who didn't understand your value," I reply, surprising both of us with my response. "You were magnificent today."

She blinks, confusion momentarily replacing anger. "Magnificent? I served drinks wearing practically nothing while being pawed by a monster."

I shake my head, moving to stand directly before her.

"No, Francesca. Let me tell you what I saw…" I make sure to look her in the eyes, and when I do, my heart damn near explodes. "You walked into that room of dangerous men wearing nothing but lace, yet you were the most powerful person there."

At my words, a childhood memory hits me suddenly.

It's like I'm back in my father's study, the scent of cigar smoke and whiskey surrounding me. I was seventeen, bleeding from my lip after a fight with one of our soldiers who'd disrespected me.

"You think being a monster makes you a man, Dante?" Vito had asked, not even looking up from his ledger. "Any animal can tear with its teeth. True power isn't in making people fear you, son. It's controlling them when they don't."

I blink the memory away, focusing on Francesca's beautiful body instead.

"They wanted to look at you, but they couldn't look away from me," she says, challenging me with her gaze. "Is that what you mean?"