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"But you won't stand with me either," I observe.

His smile turns sad. "One step at a time, brother. For now, let's just say I'm... reconsidering my options."

I rise, buttoning my jacket. "This meeting never happened, Nico. As far as Luca knows, you remain his loyal brother."

"And as far as the Volkovs know, you remain ignorant of their betrayal," Nico adds, understanding perfectly. "Be careful, Dante. They have eyes everywhere."

I nod once, sharp and decisive. "Stay in touch, but only through the secure channel. No phones. No electronic trails."

"Of course." Nico stands, and for a moment, I see the boy he once was—before our father's machinations, before Elena's blood stained the cathedral steps. "May I offer one piece of advice?"

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

"Don't underestimate what Francesca Castellano means to you," he says quietly. "I've seen the surveillance photos. The way you look at her... it's the same way Luca looks at Bianca."

The observation hits hard, but I maintain my mask of indifference. "The difference being, brother, that I know exactly what she is and isn't to me."

I exit the cigar lounge, Nico's words echoing in my mind. I push the rapid thoughts aside, there will be time for reflection later.

Right now, I have more immediate concerns: making sure my queen is safe.

Chapter Eighteen

Francesca

I wake to the soft brush of something silken against my cheek.

My body responds before my mind, arching instinctively toward the touch. When I finally open my eyes, Dante stands above me, immaculately dressed despite the early rise of the sunshine outside the window.

"Wake up, princess," Dante's grunts huskily. "I have something for you."

I blink away sleep, rising onto my elbows as a blood red rose trails softly down my face. The presidential suite's massive bed swallows me in Egyptian cotton, my naked body still bearing faint marks from our aggressive reunion last night when Dante returned from his meeting with Nico.

"What time is it?" I ask, reaching for the sheet to cover myself.

Dante's hand stops mine, exposing my naked body to his hungry gaze. "It's still early. But we have plans today."

He presents an envelope, thick cream-colored cardstock with gold trim. Inside, I find two tickets for tonight's performance at the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma.La Traviata. Private box. The most exclusive cultural event in Rome this season.

"Opera?" I look up, unable to mask my surprise. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a Verdi enthusiast."

His smile is dangerous for this early in the morning. "I contain multitudes of layers, Francesca."

"So I'm discovering," I reply, setting the tickets aside, the weight of their significance not lost on me.

This is no ordinary gift. This is Dante Ravelli displaying his captive bride to Roman society. This is staking his claim publicly, just like he did in Paris, showing the criminal world that the Castellano princess belongs to him now.

And yet... something in his eyes suggests there's more to this offering.

"How was Nico?" I ask, returning to the subject as I slide from bed, not bothering to cover my nakedness as I cross to the bathroom.

I trail my fingers along the cool marble of the bathroom counter, remembering how Dante returned last night.

The clock had shown nearly three when the bedroom door opened. I'd fought sleep for hours, determined to hear about his meeting with his brother, but exhaustion had finally pulled me under.

His touch had been different when he woke me. Gentler than usual, almost hesitant. He brushed my hair back, his fingers lingering against my cheek. When I asked about Nico he simply pressed his lips to my forehead and told me to go back to sleep.

Dante follows me into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe as I start the shower. Steam begins to fill the marble room, fogging the mirrors.