Chapter 9 - Reclaiming the Throne
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The words hung in the air like a hangman’s noose.
Lorenzo hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting frantically around the room, looking for his loyalists, looking for backup. But no one moved. The men who had been cheering his name just two minutes ago were completely frozen, paralyzed by the sudden resurrection of their true king.
“Of… of course, Boss,” Lorenzo swallowed hard, his voice shaking.
He scrambled out of the heavy mahogany chair like it was made of hot coals, nearly tripping over the edge of the expensive rug in his haste to back away.
Matteo didn't look at him as he rolled himself smoothly into the empty space at the absolute head of the table. He positioned his wheelchair perfectly center, the undeniable ruler of the room.
Elena Marlowe stepped out from the shadows near the doorway and walked quietly to stand directly behind his right shoulder. She stood tall, her hands clasped respectfully in front of her, the perfect picture of a loyal servant—and a chilling warning to anyone who thought Matteo was alone.
Matteo slowly reached out and picked up Lorenzo’s abandoned, full glass of red wine. He swirled it gently, smelling the bouquet.
He finally turned his gaze to the woman sitting on his left.
Celeste was visibly shaking. The beautiful, confident woman who had just toasted to his demise was gone, replaced by a terrified animal backed into a corner.
“Celeste, my love,” Matteo said smoothly, taking a slow sip of the wine. “You look absolutely breathtaking this evening.”
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“Matteo…” Celeste choked out, a fake, watery smile trembling on her lips. “I’m… I’m so happy you felt well enough to join us. We were just… we were just celebrating your continued recovery.”
“Were you?” Matteo asked, arching an eyebrow. He placed the wine glass down with a heavy thud. “Because it sounded a hell of a lot like a victory lap to me.”
