Page 63 of Crown of Blood

Around it, a delicate gold chain holds the Ravelli crest. The necklace was a gift I left on her pillow this morning. A visible brand for anyone who might question who she belongs to.

From the color of the jewelry, it would just be a necklace to a normal woman. To those in the know, it's a message written in gold.

"Where are we going?" she asks, watching the city lights flash by.

"Westminster," I reply, my hand finding its place on her thigh. The fabric of her dress is soft beneath my palm, but I can feel the heat of her skin through it. "I have a meeting with someone who seems to have forgotten how business works."

Her eyes meet mine, understanding dawning. "And you're bringing me because..."

"Because a man should never hide his true nature from his wife." I squeeze her thigh, fingers digging into soft flesh. "And because it's time London sees who stands beside me."

The car turns onto a narrow street that tourists never find, then slows to a stop before an unmarked door beside the Westminster clock tower. Big Ben. A location so famous, it's one of the most photographed buildings in the world.

But few know the entrance we take exists. And fewer still have permission to use it.

The underground network beneath this historic landmark has served my family for three generations.

Alessio opens the car door, standing at attention as I step out, then offer my hand to Bianca. She takes it, emerging with the grace of a woman born to power rather than thrust into it weeks ago.

"Mr. Ravelli," the doorman greets me with a slight bow, eyes carefully averted from Bianca's face. "They're waiting below."

I nod once, my hand finding the small of Bianca's back as I guide her through the door and into a narrow corridor lined with century-old stone. The air changes here—it's cooler, heavy with history and secrets.

"What is this place?" Bianca whispers, her heels heavy against the stone floor as we approach an antique elevator cage.

"One of London's better-kept secrets," I reply, opening the wrought iron gate. "The Ravelli family's money helped rebuild the underground level after the bombings in World War II. In exchange, we gained a private meeting space beneath one of the most secure locations in London."

She glances around, brows knitting. "Isn't this... government property?"

I smirk, pressing the button for the lift.

"And who do you think prefers us handling the criminals,cara mia? Saves the taxpayers the trouble of sorting the bad guys from the worse ones."

The elevator descends slowly, gears grinding with a sound that echoes through the narrow shaft. Bianca's hand finds mine in the dim light, and I lace our fingers together, sensing her nervousness despite the brave face she wears.

"Are you afraid, little rabbit?" I murmur, bringing her knuckles to my lips.

She meets my gaze steadily. "Should I be?"

"Not of me." I press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. "Never of me."

The elevator stops with a shudder, and I slide the gate open to reveal a space that few outside my circle have ever seen.

The underground chamber sprawls beneath the foundations of the Houses of Parliament, a cavernous space transformed into a testament to power and luxury. Crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, sending golden light across mahogany tables and leather chairs.

A bar stands against one wall, stocked with bottles of any liquor one might fancy. At the center, a massive table stretches out, its surface inlaid with a map of London crafted from different exotic woods.

Men stand as we enter—five of Arben's lieutenants, all armed, all wary. And Arben himself, seated at the head of the table like he belongs there.

I scoff and shake my head at the sight.

The disrespect is deliberate. An instant challenge to my authority.

"Luca," he greets, remaining seated, his Albanian accent thick around my name. "I see you brought company."

His gaze slides to Bianca, assessing her with the eye of a man who sees women as commodities. "The new Mrs. Ravelli, yes? We've heard much about your... unusual marriage."

I feel Bianca stiffen beside me, but her face remains composed. I release her hand, moving to stand behind the chair that should have been mine from the beginning.

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