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Because this kill wasn't like the others. The countless men I've murdered for power, territory, or simple revenge.

No, this death was for her.

For daring to put his hands on what's mine.

My father would call this weakness. Vito Ravelli believed that love made men soft, made them vulnerable. But as I watch the last flicker of life fades from his eyes, I know differently.

This kill feels purer than any that came before.

Because I didn't just eliminate a business rival or remove an obstacle… I protected what's mine.

With careful movements, I detach the diamond cufflink from his right wrist. A trophy for my collection. My first in months. A reminder of what happens to those who touch what belongs to me.

"Clean this up," I instruct Marco. "No witnesses. No evidence."

"Already arranged," he confirms, opening a secure line to the cleanup crew waiting on standby.

I turn to Francesca, who stands watching me with an unreadable expression. Blood speckles the emerald silk of her dress, a few drops having landed on her pale skin during Dominguez's final moments.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, crossing to her, hands running over her arms, her shoulders, tilting her chin to examine where his fingers gripped her throat.

"I'm fine," she replies, pulling away from my inspection. "But we just lost our only direct connection to the Spanish ports. I had him, Dante. Another few minutes and I would have secured everything we needed without violence. Without…this."

I follow Francesca's gaze to Dominguez's corpse, blood still seeping across the polished deck.

A flash of fury surges through me. "He had his hands on you!"

"That was part of the plan! I was handling it!"

"And the plan changed the moment he threatened you," I counter, blood still hot in my veins. "No one touches what's mine.No one."

Her eyes narrow, and for the first time in weeks, I'm reminded of the look she gave me on those very first few nights we spent together. "So this was about your ego? Your ownership over me? Not our strategic objective?"

"This was about protecting what belongs to me," I growl, crowding her against the stateroom wall. "About showing the world what happens to those who cross Dante Ravelli."

"You sound exactly like him!" Francesca points to the floor. "I am not a possession to be protected. I am your queen. Your partner. I don't need rescuing like some damsel in a fucking fairy tale!"

The fire in her eyes, the defiance in her posture, only inflames the primal need burning through me. This woman, covered in another man's blood yet unbroken, unafraid, unleashes something dark and hungry in my soul.

I capture her face between my hands, thumbs pressing against her jawline.

"You are mine, Francesca. Mine to protect. Mine to avenge. The blood oath made it official, but you were mine from the moment I first saw you."

I pull the diamond cufflink from my pocket, rolling it between my fingers, reminding me of every trophy I've collected over the years.

Each one marking a kill, a victory, a step toward power. Just like this moment.

"Do you know why I stopped taking trophies after you came into my life?" I ask, watching her face. "Because for the first time, I had something worth more than revenge or power. Something that made me want to be... different."

Francesca's eyes track the movement of the cufflink.

"But watching him touch you..." My jaw clenches at the memory. "Watching him put his hands on what's mine... I needed this. Needed to mark the moment I chose you over strategy. Over empire. Over everything, Francesca. Overfucking everything."

I step closer, crowding her against the wall. "Do you have any fucking idea how hard it was? Sitting there, watching him lean into you, watching you smile at him? Every cell in my body screamed to rip him apart. But I trusted you. Trusted us."

My free hand cups her face, thumb tracing her lower lip.

"And then he threatened you, and I realized something I've been fighting since the moment you came into my life."