Chapter 17 - The Crucible
We didn't speak a single word during the three-hour private jet flight from Venice back to our Tuscan estate. The silence between us was heavier than a war zone. The innocent marriage we had tried to rebuild in the countryside was utterly dead, replaced by two apex predators sitting across from each other in leather armchairs, checking their weapons in grim unison.
Dante racked the slide of his tactical rifle, his movements fluid and precise. "When we land," he said without looking up, "you stay in the armored transport. I will clear the villa."
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"Not a chance," I replied, loading high-capacity magazines into two sleek submachine guns. "They're my children too, Dante. And Sofia is my mess to clean up." Dante looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a terrifying intensity. "You wanted to be The Sovereign, Lena? Fine. But in my world, when the palace falls, the queen doesn't hide behind her soldiers. She fights beside the king."
As our helicopter descended into the foggy estate grounds, the harsh glare of floodlights illuminated a nightmare. The iron gates were blown off their hinges, our security guards lay disarmed on the driveway, and smoke poured from the upper floor of the main villa.
