Chapter 19 - The King’s Wrath
Every guest turned. The violins cut off in mid-note.
Walking through the doorway, flanked by two armed men carrying high-powered tactical rifles, was Dante Moretti.
He was dressed in a tailored midnight-black tuxedo, his silver-touched hair slicked back, his dark eyes restored to their full, lethal fury. The poison was gone. The hesitation was gone. The monster of Seattle had returned, and he had brought hell with him.
Beside him walked me—wearing an emerald silk gown that concealed two tactical blades beneath the hem, my chin held high, looking every bit the queen of the man standing beside me.
The ballroom descended into instant panic. Society elites shrieked, dropping their crystal glasses as iron-clad enforcers drew their weapons from beneath their tuxedos.
“Dante?” Valentina gasped, her face turning as white as her lace gown. “Impossible! The poison—”
“The poison failed, Valentina,” Dante’s voice roared through the vast hall, cold, terrifying, and echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “Because my wife is a far better doctor than your father ever was.”
Dante raised his hand, pressing a small silver remote detonator.
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EXPLOSION.
The grand glass skylights above the ballroom shattered downward in a magnificent shower of sparkler-like shards as tactical flashbangs went off across the high balconies. Dante’s private strike team—mercenaries hired using the off-shore accounts from Zurich—swarmed the upper levels, disarming the Iron Council’s security detail in seconds.
