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Her startled laughter is unexpected enough to stop my breath. "Shopping? The great Dante Ravelli takes his captive brideshopping?!"

"Yes. For the masquerade," I clarify, fighting the urge to capture that laugh with my mouth. "You'll need a gown. New jewelry. A mask."

"Well, excuse me. I just assumed you'd have selected everything already," she says, her eyes searching mine from a distance so close I can see every tiny fleck in her beautiful irises.

"Some things require your personal attention." My hand rises to cup her cheek, thumb brushing her lower lip. "I want to see what catches your eye. What makes you shine."

The admission feels dangerous, too revealing. I may as well be telling her that deep down, I actually might want toget to know her.

I drop my hand abruptly, stepping back to create distance between us.

"I'll give you one hour to rest, then we'll leave," I inform her, my tone deliberately cooler as I force myself to take a step back. "Marco will escort you to the shops I've arranged. I'll meet you there. I have business to attend to first."

She studies me with a furrowed brow, something like disappointed flooding her features. "Of course. Business first, pleasure later."

The words carry a promise that follows me as I retreat to the secure room set up for communications. Vincent waits with updates on Luca's movements, on territorial disputes requiring my attention, on a thousand details that should occupy my mind completely.

Instead, I find myself checking my watch repeatedly, counting down the minutes until I can rejoin the woman waiting in our suite.

The woman who was supposed to be merely a symbol of my power but is rapidly becoming something far more dangerous.

Something that feels terrifyingly like a weakness.

***

We walk the exclusive boutiques of Paris like royalty, doors opening at our approach, staff fawning over our every move. Francesca moves through these spaces with the natural grace of someone born to wealth and power.

AtDior, she selects a gown that makes my mouth fuckingdrop.

It's black, of course. My favorite.

But it's cut so close to her body before flaring dramatically at her knees, the back open to the base of her spine. At her favorite jeweler, she tries on diamond earrings that catch the light like stars. AtLouboutin, she chooses heels that transform her walk into a weapon.

I approve each selection with a stiff nod, watching her through hooded eyes as she transforms herself into the queen I never knew she could be when I signed that deal.

"Beautiful," I murmur as she emerges from the final fitting, once again in her traveling clothes but somehow changed nevertheless. More confident. Morepresent.

"Thank you," she replies. I realize it's the first time she's accepted a compliment from me without qualification or resistance, and fuck me, I can't help but smile.

As we return to the hotel, Paris lighting up around us as dusk falls, she grows quiet.

"Dante," she says suddenly, as our car approaches the hotel. "Why did you really bring me here? The truth."

I consider deflecting, offering the strategic explanation that I normally would. That her presence sends a message, that the Castellano-Ravelli alliance strengthens my position. That this is all a game to me. A game I will win when I finally get one over my older brother.

But something in her eyes demands more.

"Because you deserve to see Paris," I admit finally. "BecauseIwanted to see you see it."

Her expression softens with surprise, her guard lowering momentarily. "Dante Ravelli… you continue to confuse me. I really don't understand you."

"Good," I reply, reaching across to take her hand. "Confusion keeps you alert. Keeps you alive."

The car stops. As we exit, I slide my fingers through hers, guiding her through the lobby. The touch is possessive, territorial—a clear signal to anyone watching that this woman belongs to me.

Yet as the elevator doors close behind us, leaving us alone for the first time since our shopping expedition, the atmosphere shifts from public performance to private reality.

"I've thought of one more rule for tomorrow," I say, my voice low as we ascend towards our suite. She looks at me with a question in her brows. "You will not leave my side at the masquerade. Not for a moment. Not for any reason."