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"You were never meant for normal, Francesca," I tell her, reaching across to grip her thigh. "You were born for palaces. Not filthy French dormitories."

She turns to face me, something unreadable in her expression. "And yet here I am, traded from one palace-prison to another."

"Is that how you see it?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Even now? Even after a month in my presence?"

"How else should I see it?" Her voice is soft but carries a dangerous edge. "You may have unlocked certain doors, Dante, but this—" she gestures between us with a pointed finger, "—began with my abduction. With my father's betrayal. With your mark inked into my skin."

I shift closer, drawn to her fire rather than repelled by it.

"And yet, when given a knife and an open opportunity, you hesitated to kill me." My hand creeps higher up her thigh, fingers brushing where I know my mark lies beneath the fabric. "Your body knows what your mind refuses to admit. You want this. You wantme."

Before she can answer, the car slows as we approach our hotel. The moment fractures, reality intruding on whatever confession might have been forming on her lips.

"We're here," Marco announces unnecessarily from the front seat.

I withdraw my hand from Francesca's thigh, watching as she composes herself. Her shoulders straighten, her expression smooths into the perfect mask of a stunningly beautiful mafia princess.

My woman is ready to play her role. Ready to stand beside me as if by choice rather than coercion.

"Remember the rules," I growl as the door opens. "You're mine in every way that matters, Francesca. Make sure the world believes it."

The presidential suite atLe Royal Monceauexceeds even my impossible standards.

It's luxurious without being over the top, secure without feeling like a fortress. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer views of the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe, while soundproofed walls ensure our complete privacy.

Marco supervises the security sweep of the suite while Vincent delivers three garment bags to the master bedroom. The luggage I'd arranged for Francesca, containing everything she might need during her stay.

I lean against the wall and watch as my captive explores the suite with careful eyes. It still baffles me how she misses absolutely nothing.

Not the strategic positioning of my furniture so I'm always facing the front door, the security cameras disguised as light fixtures, the panic buttons concealed beneath tabletops.

Only now, here as my 'fiancé', her assessment isn't that of a captive seeking escape, but a partner evaluating our own defenses.Together.

"Acceptable?" I ask, pouring us each a glass of the champagne that awaited our arrival.

"Very impressive," she concedes, accepting the crystal flute. "Though I suspect the security features weren't part of the original design."

I smile, acknowledging her perception. "Some of the modifications might have been made to accommodate our…uniquerequirements."

"Our," she repeats, testing the word on her tongue. "Such a small word for such a significant shift."

Behind her, Marco indicates the suite is secure, and my staff withdraws from the suite, leaving us temporarily alone.

The sudden privacy changes the atmosphere, charging it with potential.

Francesca sips her champagne, moving to the window to gaze out at Paris' beauty. The afternoon light catches in her dark hair, illuminating auburn highlights I'd never noticed before.

It could be the change in light now we've left dreary London. Or perhaps, it could be the face that somehow, I don't hate that she's here with me.

"So, we're here. What happens now?" she asks, still facing the view rather than me.

I set my glass down, crossing to stand behind her. "Now we prepare. The gala isn't until tomorrow night. So today..." I place my hands on her shoulders, feeling her stiffen then relax beneath my oddly gentle touch, "...today I introduce you to Paris. My way."

She turns within the circle of my arms, letting my arms remain locked around her, almost like she's letting me hold her closer.

"And what way is that?"

"With shopping of course," I reply with a rare smile. "Every queen needs her crown, princess."