Page 104 of Savage Devotion

I glance at Francesca, her presence a reminder that not everything requires violence. Sometimes the most effective weapon is a carefully placed word, a strategic alliance. She's taught me that much.

"And Nico?" she asks softly.

I think of the brother I knew—the quiet one, the peacemaker, the one who always stood between Luca and me.

"We listen to what he has to say. Nico can earn his place back," I decide. "Or, if the betrayal is too deep, he joins the ranks of those who underestimated me."

The declaration settles over the room.

Antonio nods once, recognizing the brutal fairness of this position. Francesca's hand squeezes mine again, a silent acknowledgment of the weight such decisions carry.

"Rest now," she tells her brother, rising to help him stand. "I'll bring you back to your room."

As they move toward the door, I call out to Antonio. "Castellano."

He turns, eyebrow raised.

"Your sister wears my blood vial around her neck. Your family name has been replaced with mine. But that doesn't mean you're without protection." The declaration comes from somewhere deeper than strategy. "You're family now, Antonio. Remember that."

His tired eyes brighten and he nods with a stern tilt of his head. "Noted, Ravelli."

As he passes through the door, Francesca looks at me with a smile, muttering the words 'thank you' as she leaves the room.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Francesca

I trail my fingers along Dante's healing shoulder, the stitches dark against his olive skin.

His eyes remain closed, chest rising and falling in the deep rhythm of sleep he's finally allowed himself after days of pain and planning.

Nearly a week has passed since we returned from Russia. A week of watching both Dante and my brother heal from their wounds… some visible, some hidden.

In this sanctuary of the villa, I've found myself bridging two worlds that once seemed irreconcilable.

The Castellano princess and the Ravelli queen.

"You're thinking too loudly," Dante murmurs, eyes still closed though his lips curve into that dangerous smile that still makes my heart skip.

"Just admiring my work," I reply, fingers tracing the edge of his bandage. "The doctor says you're healing remarkably well."

His hand captures mine, bringing it to his lips. "I have excellent motivation."

"And what motivation might that be?"

His fingers tangle in my hair, eyes finally opening to fix me with that gripping stare.

"Getting back to London. Taking what's mine." His deep, husky voice sends heat pooling between my thighs. "Finishing what we started before the Volkovs interrupted."

I press my lips to his uninjured shoulder, breathing him in.

"The empire does need its king," I agree, trailing kisses up the column of his throat.

His laugh rumbles beneath my lips. "I wasn't talking about the empire, princess."

His hand slides beneath the silk nightgown I've taken to wearing during our recovery period, finding me already wet and waiting. The way I respond to him without thought, without hesitation… it still astounds me.

His clever fingers circle my clit with just enough pressure to make my breath catch and my hips move against his hand.

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