The Betrayed Princess's New Reign

Elena Vitiello POV: "Now, it's time to introduce you to the entire East Coast." The grand ballroom of the most exclusive luxury hotel in midtown Manhattan had been entirely locked down. Hundreds of heavily armed Outfit soldiers secured every exit, elevator, and rooftop. This was the Joint Syndicate Summit. The night I officially took the reins of two empires. I stood outside the massive double doors, feeling the heavy silk of my deep red, backless evening gown brush against my legs. The fabric moved like liquid blood. Dante stood beside me, wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. He looked like the god of death wrapped in velvet. He held out his arm. I looped my hand through it. The guards pushed the heavy doors open. A deafening wall of noise hit us, but the moment Dante’s polished shoes stepped onto the marble, the entire room went dead silent. Hundreds of capos, lieutenants, and bosses from every major crime family on the eastern seaboard were gathered around the massive banquet tables. Every single man in the room stood up. They bowed their heads, offering their absolute submission to the Reaper and his Queen. Dante led me to the raised dais at the front of the room. He sat in the high-backed leather chair at the center. I didn't sit in the back. I pulled out the chair directly to his right—the seat of the prime decision-maker—and sat down. A murmur rippled through the crowd. They saw the positioning. They knew what it meant. I leaned toward the microphone on the table. "The East Coast is now under a unified logistics grid," I announced, my voice echoing clearly through the speakers. "Chicago and New York resources are merged. Any disputes will be settled by my office." In the back of the room, a massive, bald boss from a mid-tier smuggling family stood up. His face was red with bruised ego. "With all due respect," the bald man sneered, his voice booming. "We don't take orders on our profit margins from a woman. You're a figurehead. Let the men talk business." The temperature in the room plummeted. Dante’s eyes went dead. His hand instantly dropped toward the heavy pistol holstered inside his jacket. I reached under the table. I placed my hand firmly over Dante’s, lacing my fingers through his, stopping him. I leaned back in my chair. I snapped my fingers. Julian materialized from the shadows behind me. He handed me a thick, yellow manila envelope. I tossed the envelope onto the center of the long table. It slid and stopped perfectly. "That envelope contains the bank transfers between your family and the South American cartels," I said, my voice dripping with ice. "You bypassed the Outfit tax for six months." The bald boss paled. He opened his mouth to speak. "Your family is stripped of its territory," I stated coldly. "The Outfit is seizing your ports, effective immediately." The bald man panicked. He reached inside his coat, pulling a snub-nosed revolver. He didn't even get the barrel raised. *BANG.* The sound of the gunshot was deafening. One of Dante’s elite enforcers standing against the wall had drawn his weapon and fired in less than a second. The bullet took the bald boss right between the eyes. His massive body collapsed backward, crashing through a table of champagne glasses. Thick, dark blood pooled rapidly across the pristine white marble floor. The entire ballroom froze in absolute terror. I didn't blink. My heart rate didn't even elevate. I picked up my crystal glass of red wine, took a slow sip, and looked out over the terrified crowd. "Does anyone else have an issue with my profit margins?" I asked quietly. Every single boss in the room lowered their eyes to the floor. Absolute, unquestioning submission. An hour later, the summit concluded. The bosses practically sprinted out of the room, desperate to escape the suffocating pressure. The ballroom was completely empty, save for Dante and me. The faint, metallic smell of blood still hung in the air from the corpse that had been dragged away. Dante stood up. He slowly pulled off his white silk gloves, one of which had a tiny speck of blood on the cuff. He tossed them onto the table. He walked around the chairs and stood directly in front of me. His dark blue eyes burned with an intensity that stole the breath from my lungs. To my absolute shock, the most ruthless, terrifying man in the American underworld slowly lowered himself down to one knee. My hands trembled. Dante reached into his tuxedo jacket. He pulled out a black velvet box and snapped it open. Resting on the dark silk was a flawless, ten-carat pink diamond ring. The facets caught the light of the chandeliers, blazing with blinding fire. He reached out and gently took my left hand. "Ti offro la mia vita, il mio sangue, e la mia lealtà," Dante vowed, his voice a deep, rough rumble of ancient Italian. *I offer you my life, my blood, and my loyalty.* He looked up at me, his soul completely bare. "Be my wife, Elena. For real this time. Rule this world with me." Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. My chest expanded with a love so fierce it physically ached. I looked at the man who had given me the power to destroy my monsters. "I do."