"I didn't win this war alone," Cassio declares, his voice cutting through the cigar smoke like a blade. He looks directly at Orlando Genovese. "I won because I stopped fighting like an old man. I adapted. And I won because of the woman standing next to me."
My father’s jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away.
"My wife commanded the defense of my estate while I was gone," Cassio continues, his gaze sweeping the room, daring a single man to challenge him. "She mapped the fatal flaw in Volkov's barricades. She put a bullet in the traitor who tried to sell us out to the Russians. Noemi Vellutini is the architect of this victory."
Cassio turns his head, making eye contact with Salvatore, then Lombardi, and finally my father again.
"She is untouchable," Cassio states, laying down the law of his new empire. "Anyone who disrespects her, anyone who looks at her the wrong way, answers to me. And you all know exactly what I do to those who make me their enemies."
The old men bow their heads in submission. I look at my father. There is no arrogance left in my father's eyes. He finally sees the woman I became, the empire I helped build, and he realizes he holds absolutely no power over me anymore.
I am a Queen.
The penthouse is completely silent. I sit cross-legged in the center of our massive mattress. Cassio sits facing me, his chest bare. I carefully peel away the medical tape, inspecting the angry, puckered red skin near his collarbone. The jagged tear is finally knitting together, the bruising fading into a dull yellow.
"It looks much better," I murmur, taking a sterile wipe and cleaning the skin around the healing injury. "Santoro said you’ll have full mobility back in a few weeks."
Cassio watches me work, his left hand resting warmly on my bare thigh. "Good. Because sitting behind a desk while Matteo handles the port shipments is driving me insane."
I toss the wipe into a small bin and smooth a fresh, smaller bandage over the scar. "You promised me you would rest. Keeping you confined to this room is a full-time job."
He catches my hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips. His eyes are entirely unguarded, stripped of the calculation and the violence he wears for the rest of the world. "I don't mind the confinement, Noemi, as long as you're the one locking the door."
A soft smile pulls at my lips. I shift my weight, swinging my leg over his lap to straddle him, being incredibly careful not to bump his right shoulder. He sighs, a deep sound of contentment, wrapping his good arm around the small of my back to draw me closer.
"Do you remember our wedding day?" I ask, resting my forehead against his.
Cassio’s thumb strokes the base of my spine. "I remember a girl who looked like she was walking to her own execution. I remember looking at you in that white dress and wanting to burn the entire world because I felt deceived into marrying the wrong bride."
"I hated you too," I admit. The words feel like a lifetime ago. "I thought you were a monster who only wanted to punish my father. I thought my life was over. I thought I was just a pawn trading one cage for another."
"I was a monster," he corrects gently, pressing a kiss to the bridge of my nose. "All I wanted was to punish Orlando, to own you like property, and break you just to hurt him.”
"You didn't break me," I whisper, my hands sliding up his chest to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. "You forged me."
"And now?" he asks.
"Now, you own me," I vow, pouring every ounce of my soul into the confession. "And I own you. Every breath you take, every bullet you fire, every piece of this city you conquer. It belongs to us."
"I love you, Noemi," he vows, his lips brushing against mine. "More than the empire. More than my own life."
"I love you, Cassio," I reply, sealing the promise.
He kisses me, a deep, branding claim that tastes like expensive whiskey and salvation. We tumble back into the pillows, moving together with a slow reverence. The shadows of the past, they are all gone.
We earned this. We paid for our happy ending in blood, brass casings, and shattered glass. And heaven help the fool who ever tries to take it away.
34
Cassio
Six months later
A jagged, uneven line of raised flesh sits just below my right collarbone, a permanent, ugly reminder of the night the world almost swallowed us whole.
I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master dressing room, my fingers brushing lightly over the scar. Six months ago, taking a breath felt like swallowing broken glass. Now, the muscle is fully healed. The stiffness is entirely gone. I can draw my weapon in a fraction of a second, and I can lift my wife and pin her against the wall without a single twinge of pain.
A pair of soft hands slide over my bare shoulders from behind.