Page 10 of Savage Devotion

My mind races through scenarios, calculations, probabilities—the strategic thinking drilled into me since childhood.

I need information, time, advantage.

I need him to underestimate me.

Or…

I can just fucking kill him.

I reach for the crystal decanter on the nearby sideboard, testing its weight in my hand.

"Tell me, Mr. Ravelli," I say with false calm, "do all your relationships begin with abduction? Or am I special?"

Before he can answer, I hurl the decanter at his head with all my strength.

He dodges with preternatural speed, the crystal shattering against the wall behind him. In the same fluid motion, he's on me, one large hand gripping my throat, the other capturing both my wrists above my head.

His body presses mine against the wall, every hard plane of him molded against me, his heat burning through the thin silk separating us.

"So you choosedifficult, then," he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek, the scent of expensive whiskey and mint. "Good. I was hoping you'd choose that."

Our faces are inches apart, his eyes searching mine with unsettling intensity.

His thumb traces the rapid pulse in my neck, the touch unexpectedly gentle against my thundering heartbeat. My body betrays me with a shiver that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with something darker, something I refuse to name.

"I'm going to enjoy breaking you, Francesca Castellano," he says softly, intimately, as though sharing a lover's secret. "And when I'm done, you'll thank me for it."

I glare back, defiance my only weapon now. "I'd rather die."

His thumb traces my jawline with unexpected gentleness that frightens me more than violence would, sliding down to press lightly against my lower lip.

The ownership in the gesture makes my stomach tighten with both rage and something more complicated, more primal.

More like something I can't control.

"Dying is not one of your options," he says, eyes dropping to my mouth. "Your choices are simple. Submit and be rewarded. Resist and be punished. But either way—" his body presses harder against mine, letting me feel his arousal through the thin layer of the gown, "—you belong to me now."

I look into the eyes of the monster who now owns me, feeling his body caging mine with terrifying strength.

With every struggling breath, I make a silent vow.

I will survive this. I will find a way out.

And when I do, both he and my father will pay for underestimating me.

Chapter Three

Dante

I watch my princess on the surveillance monitors, waiting for the sleeping pills to wear off.

Last night, after our first confrontation, I had my kitchen staff slip them into her dinner. Not enough to knock her unconscious like the injection the Volkovs used for transport, just enough to ensure she had a proper nights rest.

The princess had fought all day like a cornered wildcat, all teeth and claws and hatred, before finally succumbing to exhaustion.

Now morning sunlight filters through the bulletproof glass of my penthouse as I divide my attention between the security feed showing Francesca's sleeping form, and the delayed footage of my father's funeral playing on another screen.

Three days ago. What's left of the Ravelli family gathered to bury their patriarch.

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