The name hung in the damp air of Abby’s basement apartment like a toxic mist.

Inside her basement apartment, Abby pried the crate open with a crowbar.

Inside sat a dress that looked like it had been spun from pure midnight stars.

It was a royal midnight-blue silk gown, custom-tailored by a master Italian designer in Milan. The dress was specifically crafted for her body—a structural corset designed to accentuate her thick waist, a deep sweetheart neckline that framed her full bosom, and a sweeping train of heavy satin that pooled like liquid night on her linoleum floor.

Beside the dress sat a heavy black velvet jewelry box.

Abby opened it.

Inside lay the Star of Lake Michigan—a eighty-five-carat blue diamond necklace set in pure platinum, worth an estimated forty million dollars. It was the legendary Gallagher family heirloom, hidden in a Swiss vault for thirty years.

"It suits you," a deep voice purred from the doorway.

Declan stepped out from the bedroom, wearing a bespoke double-breasted black tuxedo with silver satin lapels. His beard had been trimmed into a sharp, lethal line, his hair styled to perfection. He looked like an emperor returned to reclaim his throne.

Abby stared at the glowing diamond necklace, her throat dry. "Declan... I can't wear this. This is worth more than my entire neighborhood."

Declan walked over to her, lifting the heavy platinum necklace from its velvet casing. "This necklace was bought by my great-grandfather for the woman who built his empire. My mother wore it when she ruled Chicago. It belongs on the neck of a woman who has real fire in her veins."

He stepped behind her, pushing her thick dark braid aside, his large, warm fingers gently fastening the heavy clasp behind her neck. The cold diamond rested against her warm, soft chest, rising and falling with her heavy breaths.

"Look at yourself, Abby," Declan whispered, turning her toward the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door.

Abby looked.

She didn't see the South-Side maid with dusty hands and tired eyes.

She saw a goddess. The midnight-blue gown sculpted her voluptuous figure into an hourglass of pure power. The dark velvet fabric highlighted her golden skin, her full hips looked regal, her bosom was framed like fine art, and the massive blue diamond blazed against her neck like a fallen star.

"I don't look like a servant," she whispered, tears glistening in her dark eyes.

Declan stood behind her, his large hands resting on her soft hips, his chin resting on her shoulder as their eyes met in the mirror.

"You never were a servant, my love," Declan growled softly, his thumb pressing into her waist. "You were just a queen waiting for her crown."

Suddenly, the door at the top of the basement stairs clicked open.

Heavy, hurried footsteps pounded down the steps.

Marco burst into the apartment, his hand on his holster, his face covered in sweat. "Boss! We have a problem! Tommy’s security detail just received a tip from the airport! Someone leaked that you’re alive!"

Declan didn't panic. He slowly turned around, keeping his body positioned between Marco and Abby. "Who leaked it?"

"We don't know!" Marco panted. "But Tommy just put the entire city on red alert! He’s moving the coronation ball forward! It's happening tonight at the Drake Hotel—and he’s posted fifty mercenaries at every entrance!"

Abby looked at Declan, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "Tonight?"

Declan looked down at her—at her royal dress, her blazing diamonds, and the unyielding courage shining in her dark eyes.