Page 100 of Savage Devotion

Francesca's smile lights up her tired features, and something in my chest constricts painfully.

Christ, what has this woman done to me?

I never thought I'd care about anyone's smile, let alone have it affect me physically like this. But here I am, a man who's built his life on violence and control, brought low by the curve of her lips.

"He's recovering down the hall. Still weak, but Maria's cooking is working miracles. He's barely stopped eating since we arrived." That smile tugs further at her lips. "Romano says he hasn't seen someone eat that much since you were a teenager."

I attempt to shift position, wincing as pain races through my shoulder. Francesca's hand immediately moves to my chest, steadying me.

"Easy," she murmurs. "The stitches are still fresh."

Her palm rests over my heart, warm against my skin. The simple contact grounds me, brings me fully into this moment, this unexpected sanctuary.

"You brought us here," I observe. "To the villa."

She nods. "It was closest to our extraction point from Russia. Marco thought it would be safer than London while you were vulnerable. Don't worry, the doctor is discreet, and security has been tightened. He's been seeing to both you and Antonio."

My gaze travels to the window, where I can just make out the familiar silhouette of cypress trees against the Italian sky. This place holds so many memories—my mother's laughter, childhood summers with Luca, and now… moments like this with Francesca.

The woman who was brought into my world as merchandise and has risen to become my saving grace.

"Come here," I tell her, my voice still rough but stronger now.

She hesitates, eyeing my bandaged shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You'll hurt me more by staying away."

This earns me yet another smile as she carefully shifts from the chair to perch on the edge of the bed. I reach for her with my uninjured arm, fingers finding the soft skin of her cheek.

"You saved me," she whispers, leaning into my touch. "You took that bullet knowing it was meant for me."

I stroke my thumb along her jawline. "I told you, princess. I would take a thousand."

"You saved Antonio too," Francesca murmurs, her fingers trailing along my uninjured arm. "Even after everything my father did... after everything he said to you."

I shrug, then wince at the pull in my shoulder. "It's my job to protect what's mine. You're mine. Your brother is your family. Therefore, he's under my protection."

Her amber eyes search my face. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. "I meant what I said in that helicopter, Francesca. I love you. That means I'll do anything—kill anyone—to keep you and yours safe."

"Even if it means taking on the Volkovs?"

"Especially then." My jaw tightens at the thought of those Russian bastards laying hands on Antonio. "I told you on the yacht, no one touches what belongs to me. Not your father, not the Volkovs, not even my own brother."

She leans down, pressing her forehead to mine. "You're a dangerous man, Dante Ravelli."

"Only to those who threaten what I love." The words come easier now, like breaking through a dam. Years of my father's conditioning—love is weakness, sentiment gets you killed—crumbling in the face of this woman's quiet strength.

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "I thought I was going to lose you. There was so much blood, Dante. And you wouldn't wake up. Even after the doctor removed the bullet, your fever..." She swallows hard. "I was so afraid."

The vulnerability in her voice strips me bare in ways no physical wound could manage.

"It'll take more than a Russian bullet to kill me," I assure her, my tone lighter than the weight of what passed between us in that bloody tunnel.

"It better," she replies fiercely, her hand finding mine. "Because I'm not done with you yet, Dante Ravelli."

I tug her closer, ignoring the protest of damaged muscles. When our lips meet, the kiss is gentle at first, tentative, mindful of my injuries… but it quickly deepens into something hungrier.

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