The Betrayed Princess's New Reign

Elena Moretti POV: The deafening roar of the helicopter blades slowly whined down to a stop on the roof. We took the private stairs down into the core of Manhattan. This wasn't the Long Island estate. This was the penthouse. The exact place where, ten years ago, Dante had first broken through my walls and showed me his twisted, bloody devotion. Dante punched the code into the keypad. The heavy steel door clicked and swung open. Soft, warm smart-lights flared to life automatically, casting a golden glow across the massive, empty living room. I slipped out of Dante's arms. My bare feet hit the cold, polished marble floor. I didn't stop to put my shoes on. I walked straight across the room, heading for the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the entire far wall. I reached out and grabbed the edge of the heavy velvet curtains. I pulled them back. The dazzling, violently bright night view of New York City crashed into my eyes. Right beneath my feet was the endless river of headlights flowing down Fifth Avenue. In the distance, the Empire State Building pierced the dark sky, glowing like a monument to absolute capital power. I pressed my open palm flat against the freezing glass. The chill seeped into my skin, but it couldn't touch the fire in my veins. I stared through the neon haze. My mind flashed back to a night ten years ago. I remembered crawling out of the burning wreckage of the Chicago warehouse. My lungs were full of ash. My skin was melting from the fire. I had been a broken, discarded toy, an ant waiting to be crushed by men who thought they owned the world. I looked down at the city now. The beast that had tried to chew me up and spit me out was completely, silently kneeling at my feet. Behind me, the sharp clink of glass against glass broke the silence. Dante was at the mahogany bar. He pulled the cork from a dusty bottle of vintage red wine and poured the dark liquid into two crystal goblets. I heard the rustle of fabric. He tossed his expensive suit jacket carelessly onto the white leather sofa. He pulled the knot of his tie loose, yanking it down his collar. His heavy, slow footsteps approached me from behind. Dante stopped right behind me. He wrapped his large arms tightly around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. He reached around and pressed the stem of the wine glass into my hand. The solid, radiating heat of his broad chest bled through the thin silk of my dress. It instantly drove away the biting cold radiating from the window pane. Dante rested his heavy chin in the curve of my neck. His breath stirred my hair. "What are you looking at, Elena?" he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against my skin. I lifted my glass. I gently swirled the wine, watching the thick, blood-red liquid cling to the sides of the crystal. "I am looking at my empire," I answered softly. Dante chuckled. The deep sound vibrated through his chest and straight into my spine. "Our world," Dante corrected, his tone thick with absolute possession. He moved his left hand from my waist. He slid his thick fingers through mine, forcing my hand open, and intertwined our fingers tightly together. Resting right between our locked hands was the heavy gold chain I wore around my neck. The pure gold miniature seal of the European Syndicate caught the ambient light, flashing with a cold, hard brilliance against our skin. I turned my head. I looked up at him in the dim, romantic light of the penthouse. I stared into the face of the man the world called the Reaper. I saw the faint, fine lines at the corners of his ice-blue eyes—the only proof that a decade had passed. But the fire in his gaze, that terrifying, fanatical madness that would gladly burn the world to keep me warm, hadn't faded a single degree. I got up on my tiptoes. I turned my body slightly and pressed my lips to his. He tasted like rich wine and dark promises. There was no violent struggle for dominance in this kiss. There was no desperate plundering. It was the slow, profound alignment of two souls who had survived hell and conquered the earth together. I pulled back slowly. Our foreheads rested against each other. Our breaths tangled in the quiet space between us. "The old world is dead, Elena," Dante whispered, looking deep into my eyes. "The betrayals, the pain, the scars. It is all ashes now." I lifted my free hand and touched his rough jaw. I felt the strong, steady pulse beating beneath his skin. It was the ultimate proof of my safety. I turned my head and looked back out the window. My eyes traced the jagged skyline of Manhattan, looking past the steel and glass, looking into the endless future. There would be no more street wars. No more desperate gunfights in the rain. The era of blood was over. Now, it was the silent, suffocating crush of billions of dollars. It was the absolute control of the law, the politicians, and the banks. I knew that in a few hours, when the sun rose over the East River, Wall Street would wake up and run exactly according to my will. I leaned my weight fully back against Dante's chest. I slowly raised my crystal wine glass, holding it up toward the glittering night sky of the city I owned. Dante raised his glass as well. He brought it to mine. *Clink.* The crisp, high-pitched chime of the crystal rang out perfectly in the quiet penthouse. I looked at our reflection in the dark glass. The King and the Queen. "I am the law now."