Chapter 10 - The Queen’s Reign and the Ultimate TwistBack inside the penthouse office, far away from the glittering gala and the dark waters of the river, the room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of a fireplace.
I sat in Vincent’s leather armchair, looking out at the panoramic view of the New York skyline that now felt entirely like our kingdom.
Vincent walked over to his heavy oak desk, picked up a thick, leather-bound document, and handed it to me.
"What is this?" I asked, looking up at him.
"Open it," Vincent smiled, pouring two glasses of amber scotch.
I flipped open the heavy cover. My eyes scanned the legal phrasing, and my breath caught sharply in my throat.
It wasn't a corporate acquisition. It wasn't a real estate deed.
It was a formal restructuring of Moretti Holdings. And printed clearly across the top line, sharing equal voting shares, absolute executive authority, and co-ownership of the entire empire, was my legal name:
Lena Moretti.
I looked up at him, my eyes wide with shock. "Vincent... this is... half of everything you own. You can't just—"
"I didn't give it to you because I felt sorry for you, Lena," Vincent interrupted, walking over and kneeling down beside my chair, taking my hands in his. His dark eyes burned with absolute, unshakable conviction. "I gave it to you because from the moment you called my phone while bleeding in that bathroom, you proved you had the ice in your veins to rule this underworld right beside me."
He paused, a rare, breathtaking smile touching his lips.
"And besides... there's one more thing."
"What?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Vincent reached up, gently placing my hand over my slightly dizzy stomach—the same stomach that had felt nauseous during the gala.
"Dr. Vance reviewed your medical charts from earlier this evening," Vincent said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not sick, Lena."
The world stopped spinning.
The weight of the past, the trauma of the apartment, the blood, the bullets, and the empire we had built all melted away into a single, blinding flash of light.
I looked down at my hand resting on my flat stomach, then back into Vincent’s eyes, tears of absolute, unimaginable joy spilling over my lashes.
"A new Moretti," I whispered, the words tasting like pure honey.
Vincent stood up, pulling me out of the chair and pressing me flush against his chest, his lips crashing down onto mine in a fierce, passionate, eternal kiss.
May you like
The broken waitress was gone forever.
In her place stood the Queen of New York—and our reign was just beginning.
