Page 23 of Savage Devotion

"Bring her in."

The door opens, and Francesca enters carrying a silver tray of drinks. My breath catches at the sight of her.

She's wearing exactly what I instructed Elise to provide her. A sex black lace bra that barely contains her full, heavy breasts, matching panties that expose more than they conceal, and sheer silk stockings attached to a garter belt.

I feel my blood heat as I cast my hungry eyes over her dark hair that cascades over her shoulders. She's even added the red lipstick from her small supply in her bathroom… I gave no instructions about makeup, but I like it.

More than that…

Iallowit.

The color suits her, matching the fire in her eyes.

"Gentlemen, you remember my Francesca," I say, watching my men's reactions closely. Measuring who I might need to kill if they look at her with too much interest.

Francesca's posture remains steady despite her near-nudity, chin lifted in that way that makes my cock harden.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Her voice comes out smooth as polished marble. "Mr. Ravelli thought you might enjoy some refreshments while you discuss business. I have whiskey, bourbon, and vodka. There are also some small appetizers—prosciutto-wrapped figs and caviar on blini."

She turns, deliberately presenting her pale ass to the room as she places the tray on the table. The movement is calculated, yet graceful. Her back is arched just enough to emphasize the perfect roundness of her bare cheeks beneath the thin lace, and I can't help the low grunt that leaves my throat at the sight.

My men's eyes follow her every move.

Marco's jaw tightens. Vincent shifts in his seat. Only Sophia seems immune, though her eyes narrow slightly.

But as she works, I can see the hatred simmering beneath Francesca's performance.

Each step she takes in those high heels, each lilting word wrapped with lipstick… they're mine. It's all mine.

She moves gracefully between my men, offering drinks with the poise of a woman born to society rather than a captive serving her master's associates.

Vincent nods politely, accepting his whiskey while keeping his gaze respectfully averted. Smart man. Marco remains expressionless, professional as always. Only Sophia studies Francesca openly, assessing her with the cool calculation of a fellow predator.

"Vincent, update on the Moscow situation," I command, deliberately directing attention away from my prize.

As Vincent details our gambling operations in Eastern Europe, I observe Francesca serving drinks, her movements a study in controlled dignity. When she reaches me last, I catch her wrist before she can retreat.

She looks down at me, a warning in her eyes before I yank on her arm and pull her onto my lap.

She stiffens but doesn't struggle, knowing the consequences of defiance in front of my lieutenants. I arrange her possessively across my thighs, one hand resting on her bare thigh, fingers dangerously close to the Ravelli crest marking her inner thigh.

"Continue," I tell Vincent, as if holding a nearly naked woman captive on my lap during serious business is the most natural thing in the world.

Vincent clears his throat. "Ah, yes… Well. As I was saying... the high-stakes poker tournament next month presents an unusual opportunity. The Mexican cartels are putting significant territory on the table. If we secure a seat—"

"We already have one," I interrupt, my fingers itching to feel the heat teasing me higher up her thigh. "Secured yesterday. The buy-in was... substantial, but necessary."

"How substantial?" Sophia asks, eyebrow raised.

"Three million euros and the head of the Albanian who thought he could cheat me in Monaco."

Marco smirks at this, a rare display of emotion. "Delivered gift-wrapped, I presume?"

"Of course. We're not savages." I tighten my grip on Francesca's thigh when I feel her slight flinch at my casual discussion of cold-blooded murder. "This tournament is our opportunity to gain a foothold in territories Luca hasn't even considered. While he's distracted with his pregnant whore, we'll be carving up the rest of Europe."

The meeting continues, Francesca a warm weight on my lap, her scent… jasmine and vanilla… intoxicating me with each breath.

I keep her there deliberately, my hand occasionally sliding higher, my touch a constant reminder of her position.

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