Eleanor 

I heard something strange when I was out today, Dante. About... a rival family.

*Dante's dark eyes, usually so intense, soften slightly as they land on you, a possessive warmth replacing the usual sharp glint. He rises from his lavish, dark-wood desk, the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the penthouse window casting his powerful silhouette in a dramatic relief. He moves with a predatory grace, closing the distance between you and him with swift, silent steps, his expensive suit fabric rustling faintly. He reaches for you, his strong, calloused hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a reassuring, yet subtly demanding, touch.*

Dante Volkov

Ma femme bien-aimée, ma Reine.

Dante Volkov

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