The billionaire’s captive Queen

THE RUBY BRAND

## **Chapter 3: The Ruby Brand**

The morning sun poured ruthlessly into the penthouse master suite, but it brought no warmth.

By 9:00 AM, the quiet sanctuary of Seraphina’s temporary room was invaded. Two elegant women dressed in identical slate-grey tailored suits moved with practiced efficiency, pushing rolling racks of haute couture gowns, silk blouses, and structured blazers into the room. Behind them came a man with a measuring tape draped around his neck like a silver snake.

Dante’s tailor had arrived.

"Mr. Vance requested a complete overhaul of your wardrobe, Ms. Marchesi," the lead stylist, a woman named Elena, said with a polite but entirely vacant smile. "Everything from lounge wear to evening gala attire. He specified a palette of emeralds, deep crimsons, and midnight blacks. No pastels."

Seraphina stood rigid on a small wooden pedestal as the tailor began taking her measurements. The measuring tape zipped around her waist, her bust, and her hips, making her feel less like a human being and more like a mannequin being prepped for a storefront display.

*No pastels.* Dante was already erasing every trace of her old life. He didn't want the soft, sheltered daughter of a failing shipping merchant; he was molding her into something sharp, dangerous, and fitting for the Vance empire.

"And these," Elena added, opening a velvet-lined briefcase resting on the bed. Inside lay rows of dazzling diamonds, heavy gold cuffs, and intricate hairpieces. "Mr. Vance noted that you will be wearing the ruby and black diamond collar to the opera house fundraiser next week, so the evening gowns must complement the piece."

"The collar," Seraphina repeated under her breath, staring at the glittering red gems. It was the necklace Dante had fastened around her neck the night before. To the public, it would look like a billionaire’s extravagant affection. To her, it was a brand. A marking of property.

Before she could say more, the heavy double doors of the bedroom swung open.

Dante stepped inside, completely commanding the room without saying a word. He had already shed his suit jacket, wearing a charcoal vest over his dark shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the heavy ink on his forearms. The stylists and the tailor immediately bowed their heads, stepping back to give him space.

"How is the fitting progressing?" Dante asked, his eyes sweeping over the racks of clothes before settling entirely on Seraphina.

"We are just finalizing the measurements for the evening gowns, Mr. Vance," Elena replied smoothly. "The emerald silk from Milan will be ready by tomorrow morning."

"Good. Leave us," Dante commanded.

Within seconds, the room cleared. The entourage vanished into the hallway, shutting the doors behind them with a soft, decisive click.

Seraphina stepped down from the wooden pedestal, her bare feet pressing against the plush rug. She crossed her arms over her chest, acutely aware of how much smaller she felt standing in front of him without her heels. "Do you always physically micromanage your hostages, or am I a special case?"

"I don't micromanage hostages, Seraphina," Dante said, walking toward her. He stopped just a foot away, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. "I curate my public image. And right now, you are the most talked-about part of it. The news of your father's 'retirement' and your sudden presence in my home has already hit the financial sectors."

"And what are they saying?"

"They are saying I made a hostile takeover of your family's bloodline," Dante said coldly. "Victor Moretti is already whispering to his capos that I forced your hand, that you are a prisoner looking for an escape hatch. If you look weak, or if you look like you're being kept in a cellar, it invites my enemies to try and play the hero to dismantle my credibility."

Seraphina let out a bitter laugh. "So you dress me in thousands of dollars of silk to prove you're a gentleman?"

"I dress you in silk so they know that even my captives live like royalty," Dante countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He reached out, his long fingers trailing down the silk lapel of the robe she wore. "But more importantly, I dress you so Victor Moretti knows that what belongs to me is completely out of his reach."

The possessiveness in his voice made her breath catch. It wasn't the sweet, protective jealousy of a lover; it was the dark, absolute territorial dominance of a mafia don.

"You're using me as a shield," she whispered.

"I am using you as a statement," Dante corrected. He stepped even closer, his shadow completely enveloping her. "Tonight, the Moretti family is hosting a private auction at the docks—a neutral territory event. We are going. You will wear the emerald gown, and you will wear the rubies."

"And if I show them the truth?" Seraphina challenged, her eyes flashing with a sudden spark of defiance. "What if I look Victor Moretti in the eye and tell him exactly how you threatened my father's life to keep me here?"

Dante didn’t flinch. Instead, his jaw tightened, and a terrifyingly calm expression washed over his face. He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly—but not painfully—around the nape of her neck, his thumb resting against her pulse point. He could feel her heart hammering like a trapped bird.

"If you do that, Seraphina, you won't survive the car ride home," Dante said softly, his breath brushing against her cheek. "Because if Victor thinks you are a liability to me, he won't rescue you. He will kill you just to watch me lose a piece on the board. You think I am the monster in this city? You haven't seen what lies beyond my walls."

His words sent a cold dread pooling in her stomach. He wasn't just threatening her; he was stating a fact. In this world, her survival depended entirely on the shadow Dante cast over her.

"Play your part tonight, *mia regina*," Dante murmured, his grip loosening on her neck, his thumb brushing over her jawline one last time before he pulled away. "Show them the fire I saw in you. Because tonight, the sharks are going to circle."

He turned and walked toward the door, leaving her alone with the racks of beautiful, expensive armor. Seraphina looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror, her fingers tracing the place on her neck where his hand had just been. She was a captive, yes—but as she stared at the fierce, unbroken gaze staring back at her, she knew she would learn to play his game. And she would play it to win.