He smiles at me—slow, devastating—and sets the plate down in front of me. “Is that so weird?”
“A little. Like, okay, before, you were my Drogo. Now you are all… this.” I gesture at the gun on the table, the stars on his collarbones, the way he moves like a man who has killed and will kill again.
“I am still and always will be your Drogo,” he says seriously. “I know it is bad. But babe, that is our life now.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, the words settling over me like a heavy blanket. “Our life.”
He repeats it slowly, tasting the words. “Our life.” Then, before I can take another sip of coffee, he lifts me up again—what a ridiculous thing to do when I am literally sitting down eating—and kneels in front of me.
What the hell?
“Alena…” He takes a breath, looking at the floor for a second, and I feel my heart start to race. “Damn, I had a speech prepared.” He exhales hard and pulls a black velvet box from his pocket, and oh my god, oh my god, this is happening.
“I know it is not the most romantic scene,” he says, his voice shaking slightly. “But I know you hate crowds and romantic shit, so…” He opens the box, and I stop breathing. A huge black diamond sits on an engagement ring—dark and beautiful and absolutely perfect. He remembered. Ten years ago, I had said to him casually that I will only accept to marry someone if he brings me a black diamond. A big one. Fuck. I had only said it once.
“I was yours from the moment I saw you,” he continues, his eyes finally meeting mine. “And for seventeen years I was praying that you would be mine.” He takes a broken breath, and I can see his hands trembling. “Will you do me the honour of being my wife?”
I am shocked. Completely, utterly shocked. My legs go weak and I almost slide back to the chair or maybe just the floor. I want to see his face, and I start kneeling in front of him. I can’t stop my smile, but he catches me immediately with one strong arm.
“You kneel to no one,” he says fiercely.
I give him my hand, my voice shaking when I speak. “Yes.”
Are those tears in Drogo’s eyes? Holy shit, he is crying.
Actually crying.
The man who has killed without blinking, who has stared down death like it owed him money, who has built an empire of blood and stars on his skin—has tears sliding down his cheeks. Silent, slow, like he doesn’t even know they’re there. His lashes are wet, his blue eyes glassy and bright, and for the first time in seventeen years I see the boy underneath the monster. The boy who offered me stolen flowers and promised he’d always come back.
He stands slowly, like he’s afraid the moment will shatter if he moves too fast, and takes my hand again. His fingers tremble as he slides the black diamond onto my finger. It fits perfectly—dark, dangerous, glittering like a piece of the night sky caught in metal. He stares at it for a long second, thumb brushing over the stone as if he can’t believe it’s real.
Then he looks up at me.
And he laughs.
It’s a small, broken sound—half sob, half joy—and it cracks something open inside my chest.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice rough and thick. “I thought I’d be calmer than this.”
He laughs again, softer this time, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand like he’s embarrassed. “I’ve killed menwithout blinking. I’ve stared down Klaus himself. But putting this ring on you? I’m shaking like a damn kid.”
I laugh too—shaky, wet, surprised—and it bubbles up out of me like relief. “You’re crying,” I say, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek with my thumb. “You big, scary mafia man is crying.”
He catches my wrist gently, presses his lips to my palm. “Yeah, babe. I’m crying.” His voice cracks on the word. “Because I never thought I’d get this. Seventeen years of wanting you, watching you, protecting you from the shadows… and now you’re saying yes. You’re mine. For real. Forever.”
He pulls me up into his arms, crushing me against his chest like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. His heart is thundering under my ear, fast and wild, and I can feel the tremor in his shoulders. He buries his face in my hair, inhaling like he’s trying to memorize the scent all over again.
“I’m so fucking happy,” he murmurs against my temple. “You have no idea. I’ve waited my whole life for this. For you.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and pull him down for a kiss—slow at first, soft, tasting the salt of his tears. Then deeper. Harder. Pouring everything I can’t say into it: the years of missing him, the rage when he left, the relief when he came back, the love that never stopped burning even when I tried to hate him.
When we finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in, he smiles—small, devastated, and so damn beautiful it hurts.
“I love you,” he says, voice raw. “More than anything. More than the empire, more than the blood, more than my own life. You’re it for me, Alena. Always have been.”
I smile back, tears stinging my own eyes now. “I love you too,” I whisper. “My monster. My Drogo. My husband.”
He laughs again—quiet, shaky, joyful—and kisses me once more, soft and lingering, like he’s sealing a vow.
