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"I belong to Dante Ravelli," I reply without hesitation. "King to my queen. Monster to my monster."

He enters me with one powerful thrust, filling me completely. The angle of my bound arms forces my back to arch, taking him impossibly deeper as he sets a relentless pace.

Each thrust is a claiming, each retreat a promise of return. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, adding to the marks of tonight's ceremony that already decorate my skin.

"And I," he says between thrusts, voice strained with effort and emotion. "Belong to you.Onlyyou. Forever… you."

The admission pushes me closer to the edge, my body tightening around him as release builds within me. I shatter beneath him, walls clenching around his cock as pleasure consumes me.

He follows moments later, his release hot inside me as he collapses forward, careful to brace his weight on his forearms. His forehead presses against mine, our breath mingling in the darkness created by my blindfold.

For long moments, we remain joined, hearts thundering in shared rhythm, blood and pleasure binding us more completely than any ceremony could achieve.

When he finally releases my restraints and removes the blindfold, his expression holds something I've never seen before. Something tender beneath the possessive hunger.

"Rest now, Francesca Ravelli," he murmurs, gathering me against his chest. "Tomorrow, we begin our reign."

I curl into his embrace, the vial of his blood pressing between us alongside my own.

Chapter Twenty-One

Francesca

The invitation arrives three days after our blood oath, carried on a silver tray by Elise. Heavy cardstock embossed with gold lettering that catches the dreary London light as I turn it over in my hands.

Dante watches me from across the breakfast table, his coffee untouched as I break the wax seal bearing the insignia of the Mediterranean Consortium—a collection of shipping interests that functions as a front for Europe's most powerful trafficking operations.

"The annual yacht gala," I observe, scanning the elegant script. "By special invitation only."

Dante's lips curve into that dangerous smile that still makes my core tighten despite the weeks I've spent in his bed. "Perfect timing. The new accounts have been opened."

I study the invitation more closely.

The event is scheduled for this weekend off the Italian coast. A gathering of criminal elites disguised as a luxury networking event. The wealthy and the wicked, mingling on multi-million-dollar vessels while deciding fates of territories and underground trade routes.

"I attended twice with my father," I say, memories surfacing of champagne glasses and whispered conspiracies beneath Mediterranean stars.

"And now you'll attend as my queen." Dante reaches across the table, his scarred hand covering mine. The cut from our ceremony has begun to heal, but remains tender. "Our first official appearance since the ceremony."

I trace the embossed lettering, considering how the whispers must have spread through our world like wildfire. The Castellano princess, now bound to Dante Ravelli through blood oath.

Not just his captive or his symbol of power and command, but his queen.

My father's face would have turned that beautiful shade of purple it gets when his carefully laid plans crumble. The same color it was that night at the opera when I chose Dante over the family legacy he'd crafted for me.

A hollow ache spreads through my chest as I think of Antonio, my brother. He should have been there, standing witness as I spoke the ancient words and bound my soul to Dante's. I think he would have liked it.

The irony of everything doesn't escape me.

Father traded me to the Volkovs thinking to strengthen our position, only to have me emerge as a Ravelli queen instead. The whispers say I've bewitched Dante, turned the monster into a man. They don't understand that I've simply embraced his darkness as my own.

I turn my hand to lace my fingers with Dante's, feeling the emptiness where his finger should be. "The perfect opportunity to show the Volkovs they failed to weaken you with my acquisition."

"More than that," he says, voice dropping to that deepness that signals strategy. "It's our chance to repair damage to our financial position."

My attention sharpens. Though Dante has been rebuilding his financial empire piece by piece since discovering the Volkovs' betrayal, certain channels remain closed to us. Main accounts remaining frozen. Significant underground trade routes blocked.

It's not crippling, yet… but it's a wound that needs healing before we can make our final move against Luca.