Chapter 46
She steps outside beside me, and for a second—just one—I forget how to breathe. Sophia Giordano has always looked good. I’d be lying if I said I never noticed. Even when she was too young, too off-limits, too everything, she turned heads just by walking into a room. But now?
Now I’m seeing her in a whole new fucking light.
She’s dressed like she owns the world. Like she buried a man last night and walked out of the ashes in heels.
Her dress is sleek and black; the fabric hugs every line of her body with effortless elegance.
The cut is classic—square neckline, cinched waist, a soft flare to the hips. Refined. Sophisticated.
But that cutout?
It’s deliberate. Flirty.
And that damn slit up the back… yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing when she put that dress on.
When I picked it, I knew she would look gorgeous in it, but I had no idea how radiant she would be.
Over the last few weeks, her bruises have all healed, and she has even put some weight back on.
Out in the sun, she's glowing with health and an inner strength only a person who has been through hell and back can project.
She walks like she knows I’m watching. Like every sway of her hips is meant for me.
Her dark hair frames her face perfectly, making her look angelic and stern.
A woman who knows how to command. Her dress is as black as her hair, like mourning.
But the way she wears it, it’s not grief.
It’s power. It’s a statement. Like she’s telling the world something died, but she didn’t.
She survived. And now she’s coming for blood.
And still…
Still, I want to grab my jacket and throw it over her shoulders.
Too much skin.
Too many eyes.
Damn her.
My jaw tightens as I guide her toward the front door. If anyone even thinks about looking at her too long today, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing they see.
Three brand-new SUVs line the circular driveway like black beasts crouched in wait.
Their paint gleams under the morning light; their tires still shine with showroom gloss, and their armored glass catches the sun like a mirror.
A dozen men in dark suits and tailored jackets stand nearby, six on the perimeter, six flanking the vehicles.
Alert. Silent. Mine. I guide her down the steps with a hand on her lower back.
She’s quiet, taking it all in, but I see the way her chin lifts slightly, the way her spine straightens.
She was born into this world, but this? This is me carving a space inside it. For her. For us.
I walk around the first SUV, running my hand along the matte black surface like I fucking built the thing myself. "Bulletproof tires," I say, nodding toward the treads. "Reinforced panels, V8 twin-turbo engine. You could drive this thing through a war zone and still keep your lipstick straight."
Sophia raises a brow, half amused, half impressed.
That look makes something stupid unfurl in my chest. I tap the side window.
"Triple-layered ballistic glass. Level B6 armor—stops high-caliber rounds. Every door’s got internal steel reinforcements, and the underside’s plated to absorb blast damage. "
She whistles low. "So subtle."
I smirk. "It purrs when it runs. But it bites back when it needs to."
I nod toward the back. "I had the storage compartment modified with a false bottom and enough room for emergency weapons. Also, burner phones. Whatever we need if things go south." I glance at her. "Which they probably will, at some point."
She doesn't flinch. Just tilts her head and murmurs, "Good thing I brought heels."
God, I fucking love her.
I swing the back door open and gesture toward the interior. The leather is so soft that it feels like sin. Inside, there’s dark wood paneling, along with a chilled compartment for drinks. And a partition—of course.
"The middle SUV’s yours," I tell her, turning to face her. "With your own driver, two guards inside, two outside. Full surveillance feeds and a panic button behind the armrest."
She blinks up at me. "You’re giving me my own SUV?"
"I’m giving you a kingdom," I say softly, "Piece by piece."
Because this isn’t just about safety. Or control.
Or power. It’s about showing her I’m not just the weapon in the shadows anymore.
I’m the man who stands in the light beside her and lets her walk her own path.
"These men are loyal to you only. They will even stop me if you ever give the order.
" I lean down and whisper in her ear, "Not that I would ever give you reason to, princess. "
Her large, crystal-clear gray eyes drink me in and make me forget there are a dozen of my men around us. She has that effect on me, when time just seems to stand still.
"I love you." She says clearly and loudly—a statement.
"I love you," I reply, making a statement of my own in case any of my men haven't gotten the message yet.
"Great, if you two are ready?" A female voice rings out.
Surprised and smiling, Sophia turns and says, "Lexy."
"The one and only," Lexy beams, wearing a smart suit of her own that shows off her feminine side but also sends a clear message of her power.
"I'll be your personal guard, if you allow me." Lexy smiles.
"I'd like that very much," Sophia beams, "but what about the shelter?"
"Well, I thought, if you were serious about wanting to be there too, from time to time, it'd be like killing two birds with one stone."
"You will, of course, have other guards as well," I interject.
"Oh, I love this. Thank you. Thank you both." Sophia beams from Lexy to me,
and it’s like watching sunlight ripple across water that has been frozen for too long. The shudders moving through her are the thaw, the warmth after a long, brutal winter.
The car still smells new, of leather, polish, and the faint scent of rubber from untouched tires. It’s quiet inside, save for the hum of the engine. Her hand is resting in mine. Small. Warm. Stronger than it looks.
She runs her fingers along the armrest, then exhales with a soft, content smile. "You did well."
I glance at her, and my chest tightens. "Yeah, I always knew money opened doors. But I didn’t know how to wield it like a weapon… until you."
She turns toward me with a soft gaze. I lift her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her knuckles. "My Queen."
Her smile is everything. "My King."
Then, after a beat, quieter, "The one who rose from the shadows."
I huff a laugh. "Shadow King," I echo, and the words settle in my chest with the truth of it.
The convoy begins to slow. Up ahead, the gates to one of Edoardo’s estates loom like the mouth of a beast, iron and brick and armed men waiting like teeth.
"Roll down the windows," Sophia tells the driver, her voice cool and composed, and it is instantly obeyed.
One of the guards steps forward, leaning in toward the open frame of our SUV. His face appears right beside mine, and every instinct in my body screams to shove him back. Too close. Too casual.
But Sophia’s smile is already there. Not the real one; this one is plastered, practiced, and calculated. The one that says I own this space, and you’d be wise to remember it.
"Sophia Giordano," she says evenly. "I’m here to see Don Edoardo. He’s expecting us."
"Yes, ma’am." The guard straightens immediately, respectful now. "Drive through. You’ll park in the front courtyard, left side. The Don’s waiting."
Sophia nods once, then rolls the window back up without a word.
I don’t say anything either. But damn, she’s good.
The convoy pulls past the open gates of Edoardo’s estate.
Cars line the drive all the way up to the massive stone fountain in front.
The place looks less like a residence and more like the Vatican's criminal cousin—grandiose, cold, and crawling with security, cameras, men with earpieces, and automatic weapons not even pretending to be subtle.
We roll up slowly, the tires crunch over the polished pavers. Sophia’s hand stays tucked in mine until the car comes to a full stop. The door opens, and I’m out first, already scanning. A guard steps forward, too close for my taste.
"Only Mrs. Giordano and one guard," he says flatly. "Orders from the Don."
I bristle immediately, and my shoulders tense. I’m half a breath from stepping in front of her when Sophia’s fingers close around mine again, just a quick squeeze. She gives me a calm, deliberate look. One that says, Let it go. I’ve got this.
She turns back to the guard with a graceful nod. "Understood."
And then she walks straight up the steps like she’s done it a hundred times before, like the ground should move to make way for her. I follow two steps behind, silent and imposing, playing the role of bodyguard once again. I don't mind. I'll always be her guard.
Inside, it's even more ostentatious than I’d imagined, with stark marble floors and oversized vases flanking doorways. A sterile chill hangs in the air, which smells of money and blood.
A servant in a white shirt and black vest meets us just inside the foyer. He bows slightly and gestures. "This way, Signora."
He leads us down a wide hall lined with paintings that look like they were stolen from forgotten cathedrals, past thick doors and watchful eyes, until we stop in front of one last set of double doors. The servant knocks once, then swings them open, and we step into Don Edoardo’s office.
Don Edoardo rounds the massive desk with quick, purposeful strides, smiling like this is a family reunion, not a calculated chess match. He doesn’t even glance at me. Doesn’t acknowledge the guard, a role he clearly thinks I play.
Instead, he goes straight to Sophia and takes both of her hands in his.
"Sophia, dearest," he says in a voice filled with false affection and warmth. "I’m so glad you’re alive. We feared the worst. Marcello is out of his mind with worry."