Chapter 29%
Days passed. Maybe weeks.
Power has a funny rhythm to it–once it’s yours, it hums in your veins like a second heartbeat. And I could fee! it growing. In my voice. In the fear behind every flinch when I spoke.
But I wasn’t prepared for what Dominik built.§
He blindfolded me first, cocky bastard. Said he had a surprise, and I knew him too well to argue. When he finally took the cloth off, I was standing in the center of it.”
A council chamber.
Black marble floors. Blood–red tapestries. A round table carved from ancient oak, big enough to seat devils and kings. And at the far end, on a raised platform–my throne.}
Silk. Gold. Hand–carved. Diamond inlays. Behind it, the Moretti crest–burned into the wall like prophecy.
Dominik stood beside me, hands in his pockets, calm as sin. “I don’t want to rule behind you,” he said. “I want to rule beside you.”}
I turned toward him, heart heavy in my chest–but not with weakness. With weight. With history. With vengeance turned victory.
“I never asked for a throne,” I murmured.}
He stepped closer. “But it was always meant to be yours.“}
I walked to the platform. Sat down slow. Let the silk of my gown spill around me like spilled wine. My fingers touched the armrests- solid, cold, royal.
Plooked out across the room, where ghosts used to follow me. They didn’t now.
Now they bowed.
“This is how it should’ve always been,” I whispered to myself, almost reverent. “Me. Crowned in ash, gold, and vengeance.”} Dominik just smiled.
And bowed.0
The sky was ink–black velvet, the kind that made diamonds jealous. The sea shimmered with reflections of fire and power. Fireworks were starting to bloom above the water–slow, decadent bursts of blood–red and gold. The kind of fireworks you don’t clap for. The kind you bow to.
I stood on the balcony of the estate that now bore my name on every corridor. Glass of red wine in my hand. Lipstick stain already marked the rim, a silent warning for whoever dared to touch what was mine.§
Below, the courtyard was flooded with silk, suits, and power. Every mafia boss who mattered had shown up–some with gifts, others with ghosts. All of them with grudges they’d tucked deep under designer smiles. They toasted to us. Toasted to the empire. Toasted to the anniversary of the night we turned every drop of blood into currency.
Reporters weren’t invited. That wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t a headline. This was history–ours.
I sipped slow.
Behind me, I heard him. That particular silence Dominik always brought with him–lethal, measured, steady. His hands slid around my waist like they belonged there. They did.
He didn’t speak right away. He knew better than to fill my silence too quickly. He waited until I leaned back slightly against him, wine still in hand.
Then, low and warm against my neck, he whispered, “Still want this?”
I let the words settle. Let the weight of what we’d built pulse in the night air around us. Every death. Every betrayal. Every kiss that tasted like poison and power. I thought about the girl I used to be. And the woman I’d become.
I didn’t turn to him. Just smiled, slow and dangerous, and said, “Now more than ever.”
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His grip on me tightened slightly–possessive, proud, protective. And just like that, I felt it again. That steady hum of being exactly where I was meant to be. No apologies. No hesitations.
Below us, the music swelled. Somewhere, someone toasted in Italian. I didn’t care who. They weren’t a threat anymore.
The fireworks exploded above our heads again–this time brighter, louder, like the night was trying to scream our names into legend.
I lifted my left hand slightly, tilted the wineglass just enough for the moonlight to catch it.
And there it was.
The ring. Emerald–cut. Black diamond surrounded by blood rubies. More than a wedding band. It was a blade in disguise. A symbol. A warning.
It caught the light like a dagger.
1
And I smiled like a queen who sharpened it herself.
E.N.DO
