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"My husband understands the nature of our business," she replies smoothly. "Sometimes negotiations require... personal touch."

"And how personal are you willing to be?" Dominguez asks, stepping into her space. "For access to my ports?"

Francesca maintains her composure, but I feel the shudder of her shoulders as Dominguez reaches out to touch the blood vial resting between her breasts.

"This is quite the unusual accessory," he observes, his fingers lingering between the sweet divide between my property. "Blood oath, yes? An ancient tradition. Very... medieval."

"It's a symbol of loyalty," she replies, her voice cooling slightly. "Of bonds not easily broken."

"Yet here you are, without your husband." Dominguez's hand remains at her chest, his thumb now stroking the side of her breast. "Seeking favors from a man he knows would happily destroy him."

Something shifts in the atmosphere. The predatory gleam in Dominguez's eyes intensifies as his other hand moves to Francesca's waist, pulling her closer.

"Perhaps we should negotiate terms more... directly," he suggests, his intent unmistakable as he begins backing her toward the massive bed.

Francesca places a hand against his chest, maintaining distance. "I think there's been a misunderstanding, Xavier. I'm here to discuss business opportunities that benefit us both."

"And I'm offering you exactly that," he insists, his grip tightening somewhere that I can't see. "Access to my ports in exchange for access to what belongs to Ravelli. A fair trade, no?"

I'm already moving toward the door when Dominguez's hand appears to slide up to grip Francesca's throat, his thumb pressing against the mark I left there earlier.

"Or perhaps," he continues, voice hardening, "you should consider what happens to those who waste my time. Who play games they can't finish."

"Prepare the launch," I bark at Marco, already striding toward the deck. "Now!"

Behind me, I hear Francesca's response through the speakers, her voice calm despite Dominguez's increasing aggression.

"I assure you, Xavier, no one is playing games. If you'll just—"

"No more talking," he interrupts, and the camera angle lurches as he shoves her backward. "I think it's time to show you how real men handle business negotiations."

The feed shows Francesca struggling against his grip, maintaining composure despite the danger.

She's been trained for this. Has the skills to extract herself.

But some lines cannot be crossed. Some offenses cannot be tolerated.

My woman. My queen.Mine.

The motorized launch cuts through dark water, Marco at the controls while I check my weapon. In what feels like seconds later, we're boardingLa Conquistadorafrom the rear access point.

I move through the yacht like a shadow, dodging the guests on the upper deck, Vincent and Marco flanking behind me as we descend toward Dominguez's stateroom.

The corridor is mercifully empty, most guests still enjoying the deck party above. Through the earpiece, I hear Francesca's voice, still controlled but tighter now.

"Stop! You're making a mistake, Xavier. One that will cost you everything."

"The only mistake," Dominguez replies, "was Ravelli thinking he could send his whore to seduce me without consequences. Did he really believe I'd fall for such a transparent ploy?"

I reach the stateroom door, testing the handle. Locked. I signal to Marco, who prepares a small charge while Vincent secures the corridor.

"You know nothing about my husband," Francesca says, and I hear the dangerous edge in her voice now. The queen emerging from behind the seductress's mask. "Or what he'll do when he discovers you've touched me."

Dominguez laughs, the sound ugly through the microphone. "I'm counting on it, belleza. Let him come. Let him learn what happens when Ravellis cross the wrong—"

The door blows inward, fragments of expensive wood scattering across marble floors. There are shouts from above, but Marco is on it.

I enter first, gun drawn, to find Dominguez with one hand tangled in Francesca's hair, the other gripping her throat.