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Francesca's breath catches, her pulse racing beneath my touch.

"I love you," I growl, the words ripping from my chest. "I, Dante fucking Ravelli, who was taught that love is weakness, that attachment is death... I love you. And I will burn this whole fucking world to ash before I let anyone harm you."

Francesca's lips part, then close again. Her eyes search my face, looking for... what? Deception? Manipulation?

I don't fucking know.

I just take a step back, adjusting my blood-stained cuffs.

"You don't need to say anything," I tell her. "I didn't say it to hear it back."

I straighten my shoulders, feeling oddly... free. The admission hasn't weakened me as my father always warned.

Instead, I feel fucking invincible. Like I could take on Luca, the Volkovs, and every other family foolish enough to stand against us.

Because now there's no more pretending. No more strategic moves disguised as possession. No more lying to myself about what she means to me.

I am Dante Ravelli. I am a monster of my father's making.

And I love this woman.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dante

The helicopter blades cut through the night sky, carrying us away from the yacht where Dominguez's cooling body serves as a warning to anyone who might consider touching what's mine.

Francesca sits across from me, her dress still speckled with blood. The diamond cufflink I took from Dominguez's lifeless wrist rests heavy in my pocket. The first trophy I've claimed since she entered my life.

That confession still burns in my throat.

I love you.

The words remain unacknowledged since I spoke them over Dominguez's corpse. Neither of us has mentioned it during our hasty departure from the yacht, during the cleanup arrangements, during the strategy session with Marco about our newly acquired port access.

But I feel the weight of those words in every glance she gives me. In every moment of silence that stretches between us.

Love. The weakness my father warned would destroy me.

Yet as I watch Francesca staring out the helicopter window, her pretty face illuminated by the aircraft's dim lighting, I feel no weakness.

"Stop thinking about it. I told you, you don't have to say it back," I tell her, voice barely audible over the thrum of the rotors. "But I meant what I said. I didn't say it to hear it from you."

She turns to me, her golden eyes painfully unreadable right now. "I know, Dante."

Before either of us can say more, my phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull is out, I see it's the encrypted line reserved for urgent matters only.

"The ports are secured," Marco reports from the jump seat beside the pilot. "Codes have been changed. Ravelli access established. We'll have our men on the ground by sunrise."

I nod, acknowledging the victory while looking back to my phone. The screen displays a video message from an unknown number.

Something cold slides down my spine. Years of navigating the criminal underworld have honed my instincts, and right now, they're screaming danger.

"What is it?" Francesca asks, noticing my expression.

Instead of answering, I turn the phone's screen toward her as I press play.

The video begins with a black screen, then fades to reveal a concrete room with harsh lighting. The space is sparse. A metal chair bolted to the floor, a drain in the center of rough flooring.