Chapter 15 - The Queen's Offer
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By three o'clock in the morning, the bodies had been removed, and the estate had fallen into a quiet, heavy calm.
Inside Damian’s private master suite on the top floor, a fireplace roared, filling the spacious room with warm, golden light.
Wren stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the frozen Long Island Sound. The rain had stopped, replaced by a soft, silent snowfall that blanketed the world in white.
A soft knock came at the door, and Damian walked in, carrying two glasses of dark, aged scotch.
He walked over to her, offering her a glass. Wren took it, her fingers brushing against his.
"The council has submitted," Damian said quietly, staring out at the snow beside her. "Moretti's territories have been divided among my loyal capos. The East Coast is secure."
"And the Donati in Sicily?" Wren asked, taking a slow sip of the warm liquid. "They know I'm alive now, Damian. They won't stop sending hitmen until my body is in the ground."
Damian turned to face her fully, setting his glass down on the marble sill. He reached out, taking both of her hands into his own—the hands that had bled for him, fought for him, and saved him twice.
"Then let them come," Damian said, his voice ringing with fierce, unshakeable conviction. "Five years ago, you fought them alone in a dark alley. But you're not alone anymore, Wren."
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He pulled a velvet box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal a silver signet ring engraved with the Ricci crest—the mark of the syndicate's co-ruler.
"I offered you a ride out of here five years ago, and you ran," Damian said softly, looking deeply into her eyes. "Tonight, I'm offering you the throne. Stand beside me as my equal. Rule this kingdom with me."
