I close my eyes, waiting for the final blow.
"But when the time came to pull the trigger," Rafael continues, his voice deepening into something resonant and absolute, "she didn't. She chose us. She chose the Brotherhood. She gave us the intel that allowed us to wipe out the O'Rourkes and her own blood in a single night. She risked her life, and the life of her sister, to ensure we were the ones standing when the smoke cleared."
He turns back to me, reaching out his hand.
I hesitate, my breath catching in my throat. I look at his hand—the hand that killed my father, the hand that held me while I cried. I take it.
He pulls me to his side, his arm wrapping around my waist, flush against his hip. It’s a public claim, a declaration of ownership that leaves no room for doubt.
"This marriage was born out of a political trade," Rafael says, his eyes scanning the crowd with a lethal challenge. "But it is no longer an obligation. Gia is a Caruso by choice. She holds her place beside me not because of her name, but because she earned it on the battlefield. Any suspicion toward her is suspicion toward me. And we all know how I handle suspicion."
The silence that follows is absolute. I can see the shift in the room—the anger doesn't disappear, but it’s replaced by a begrudging, heavy respect. Rafael isn't just protecting me; he’s validating me.
“Ghost Heiress is dead, and the Caruso Queen has taken her place.”
Matteo looks at us for a long moment, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He raises his glass. "To the Brotherhood. And to the women who keep us from burning the world down."
"To the Brotherhood!" the room roars back.
The tension breaks. The formal assembly dissolves into a low hum of conversation and the clinking of crystal. Dante and Enzo step forward, their expressions still grim, but the lethal edge is gone.
"You're a lucky man, Rafe," Dante grunts, nodding toward me with a sharp, respectful dip of his head. "Most women would have just run for the hills. She’s got a spine. I’ll give her that."
"She’s a pain in the ass," Rafael mutters, though the look he gives me is anything but annoyed. "But she’s mine."
Matteo approaches us, his wife Alessia on his arm. Beside them are Bianca and Dante, and Isabella and Enzo. The women look at me with eyes full of a soft, welcoming warmth that I don't deserve.
"You did good, Gia," Isabella says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "We know what it cost you. You're one of us now. Truly."
"We've already set up a room for Laura," Bianca chirps, her eyes bright with excitement. "She’s going to love the gardens. And I’ve already decided she’s going to be my personal shopping assistant once she’s up to it. She has excellent taste in hair ribbons."
I feel the lump in my throat returning, but this time, it’s not from fear. It’s from a sense of belonging I’ve never known. I’m standing in a circle of people who should be my enemies, but they’re looking at me like I’m family.
"Thank you," I whisper, looking at the women. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything," Alessia says with a sassy wink, leaning in close. "Just make sure you keep Rafael in line. He’s been a nightmare. We’re all tired of his sulking. It was affecting the atmosphere at brunch."
Rafael growls a low warning, but his hand on my waist is gentle, his thumb grazing my hip in a slow, possessive circle. "I don't sulk."
"You do," I chime in, my stubbornness returning as the adrenaline fades. "You’re a very large, very grumpy bear, Rafael. Everyone knows it. You probably have a professional sulking chair."
The laughter that follows is genuine, a bright, healing sound that signals the end of the war. We stay there for hours, the men talking strategy and territory, the women talking about the future. The unity that was once forced by a contract is now fully, undeniably real.
As the night winds down, Rafael leads me back toward our suite. The compound is quiet now, the soldiers having retired to their quarters. We walk through the dim hallways, the sexual tension between us flaring back to life the moment we’re alone.
He stops at the door to our room, pinning me against the wood. He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me, his green eyes dark with a hunger that makes my knees weak.
"You heard what I said down there," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over my ear.
"I heard."
"I meant every goddamn word, Gia. You're not a trade anymore. You're mine. And I’m going to spend the rest of our lives making sure you never forget it."
He kisses me then—a deep, possessive kiss that tastes like victory and a promise. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my body melting into his. The ghost of the past is finally gone, replaced by the man standing in front of me.
"I love you, Rafael," I whisper against his lips.
"I know," he mutters, his hand finding the zip of my dress. "Now, let me show you exactly how much I love you."
