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"Isn't that what you wanted? Or would you prefer 'captor'? 'Owner'? 'The man who kidnapped me and tattooed his family crest on my inner thigh'?" I ask sweetly, sipping my champagne.

Something like amusement flickers across his face. "Fuck. You negotiate better than most of my men, princess."

"I was raised for this, remember? My entire life was preparation for navigating these shark-infested waters."

"Yes, but your father intended you for someone else's empire," Dante reminds me, his fingers tightening slightly at my waist.

"And yet, here I am with you." I hold his gaze steadily. "My father always said destiny finds its way despite our plans."

Dante's reply dies on his lips as his attention shifts abruptly to something—someone—across the ballroom. His body goes rigid beside me, jaw clenching tight enough that I can see the muscle jump beneath his skin.

"Stay close."

I follow his gaze, and suddenly there they are.

Luca and Bianca Ravelli.

Even from this distance, they command attention. Luca is tall and imposing in a midnight-blue tuxedo, his dark hair perfectly styled, his strong jawline accentuated by his simple black mask.

But it's the woman beside him who truly captures attention.

Bianca's pregnancy is unmistakable now, her elegant cream gown designed to accentuate rather than hide her rounded belly. Her dark hair cascades over one shoulder, her mask adorned with pearls that match those draped around her throat.

They move through the crowd like royalty, acceptance of their position evident in every graceful step. Luca's hand rests protectively over his wife's stomach, the gesture both tender and possessive.

"He actually brought her," Dante mutters, draining his champagne in one swallow. "In her condition."

"She looks radiant," I observe, watching as Luca bends to whisper something in Bianca's ear that makes her smile and kiss him on the cheek. "Pregnancy suits her."

Dante's eyes narrow, something flashing behind them that I can't quite identify. "It's dangerous. Bringing her here. Displaying her vulnerability to every enemy they have. Do you see the risk and irresponsibility he has brought to the Ravelli Empire? Do you see why I could not stand and watch my father's legacy fall beneath my brother's carelessness?"

But I recognize what lurks beneath his words—not just strategic assessment but something darker. More personal.

"Does it bother you?" I ask quietly.

"What?"

"Their happiness. The fact they are expecting a child."

His eyes snap to mine, cold fury replacing the momentary vulnerability. "This has nothing to do with their spawn and everything to do with the throne that rightfully belongs to me. Thatwillbelong to me."

"Of course," I reply, sensing that this conversational will serve no purpose in our current environment. "Shall we circulate? There's a Corsican arms dealer by the bar over there."

He offers his arm, slowly looking away from Luca like the perfect gentleman he's pretending to be for any watching eyes. "Lead the way."

For the next hour, we move through the gathering like a well-oiled machine. I translate subtle nuances in French negotiations that Dante might miss, while he projects the controlled menace that makes even hardened criminals step back.

We're good together. Dangerously good.

My education and social finesse complementing his raw power and strategic mind. Whether I'm choosing to play this roleor have truly been transformed by it hardly seems to matter anymore.

The lines between captivity and partnership blur further with each passing moment.

I feel Dante tense beside me as we navigate the outskirts of the ballroom. His body goes rigid, his hand suddenly gripping my waist with bruising force.

Following his gaze, I see why. Luca and Bianca Ravelli are looking directly at us, their expressions shifting beneath their masks.

"Should we approach them?" I ask.