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Something has changed. Something fundamental. Something irreversible.

And as Dante's eyes meet mine in the shadowed alcove, I see that he knows it too.

Chapter Eleven

Dante

The Paris streets blur past my window, streetlights smearing like watercolors against the night. Blood still pounds in my veins hours after leaving the masquerade.

After seeing my brother. After seeing his pregnant whore.

After claiming Francesca against that ancient wall, feeling her shatter at the mercy of my fingers while denying my own desperate release.

My cock still throbs with unsatisfied need, a constant reminder of unfinished business. But restraint has its purpose. Power isn't just about taking, but about controlling when to take.

And tonight, control is everything.

"Status?" I ask Marco, who sits rigidly in the passenger seat as Vincent drives us through Paris' winding streets.

"Luca's security detail left the château twenty minutes ago," Marco reports, eyes on his tablet. "They appear to be returning to their hotel. You and Ms. Castellano are safe, sir."

I nod, turning my attention to Francesca beside me.

She's been quiet since we left, her mask discarded but her expression unreadable in the shadows. The black gown pools around her like ink, exposing the elegant curve of her throat where my mouth had been just hours earlier.

"I've decided on a change of plans," I announce, making a decision that's been forming since I watched Luca's protective hand on Bianca's swollen belly. "We're not returning to London yet."

Francesca's eyes find mine in the darkness. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe. Somewhere we can disappear until I'm ready to make my final move." I reach for her hand, finding it surprisingly cool against my overheated skin. "It would be unwise to remain in Paris while my brother and the Volkovs are gathering allies."

What I don't say, what I can barely admit to myself, is that the sight of my pregnant sister-in-law has shaken something loose inside me.

I need more time. More time to gain a threshold on my power, and then, and only then, can I make my move against Luca.

***

By dawn, we're speeding through the Italian countryside, leaving Paris and its complications far behind.

I've dismissed most of my security detail, retaining only Marco and Vincent for the journey.

The fewer who know our destination, the better.

Francesca sleeps against my shoulder, her hair spilling across my chest as her breathing flutters between long breaths and shorter, more intense ones.

I study her face, the fierce intelligence in her eyes momentarily softened in her sleep. What does such a beautiful woman like her dream about? Men like me? Or a simpler life?

"Sir, we're approaching the turnoff," Vincent announces quietly from the driver's seat, careful not to wake her.

I nod, gently shifting Francesca as the car slows, turning onto an old, familiar private road that winds up into the hills. Cypress trees line the path, their shadows stretching across ancient stones that crunch beneath the tires.

The villa appears as we crest the final hill, bathed in golden morning light. Stone and terracotta, centuries old but meticulously maintained, it sits proudly on the edge of a cliff with panoramic views of the valley below.

"Where are we?" Francesca asks, voice husky with sleep as she blinks awake.

"Ah, good morning, beautiful," I reply, studying her hazy eyes as she blinks awake slowly. "We've arrived at… let's say, one of my most favoritesafehouses."

A frown forms on her brow. "Safehouse?"