Chapter 31
POV: Amanda
The chandeliers of the ballroom glittered like stars, casting golden light over polished marble and silk-draped tables. The De Lucca crest gleamed at the center of the stage, a quiet reminder of the night’s purpose: celebrating Adrian’s sovereignty, the strength of his family, his reign as king.
But as I stood at his side, my hand tucked into the crook of his arm, I couldn’t help thinking it wasn’t the kingdom that stole the air from my lungs. It was him. Always him.
Adrian De Lucca in a black suit and tie was lethal enough. But tonight? Tonight he wore power like a second skin, his presence commanding every eye in the room. And yet, when he glanced at me—the smallest flick of his gaze—the sharp edges softened. His hand brushed mine, a silent promise.
I was his. He was mine. And somehow, impossibly, we’d found our way here.
The hall buzzed with voices—the Espositos, the Rossis, and other families whose names carried weight across cities. They all raised their glasses when Adrian stood, his tall frame cutting a striking figure as he moved to the center of the stage.
He waited. He didn’t need to demand silence. It fell the moment he lifted his glass.
“To family,” he began, his voice deep, steady, carrying effortlessly through the room. “To loyalty. To those who have stood beside us through war and blood, who have shown what it means to be unbreakable.”
Applause broke out, glasses clinking. Pride swelled in my chest as I watched him—the leader, the king, the man I loved.
But then his eyes found me again, and everything shifted. His expression softened in a way I’d only ever seen in the dark, quiet hours of our bed. He set his glass down slowly, his voice dropping lower, quieter.
“And to her.”
The world seemed to tilt. Heat rushed to my cheeks, my breath catching as the room followed his gaze… to me.
“Amanda,” he said, my name a vow, a prayer.
“You were a light I never expected. A fire I tried to resist—and failed. From the first day, from the first look, you broke through the walls I thought were unshakable. You’ve been my battle, my temptation, my salvation. You’ve been my queen long before tonight.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. My heart slammed in my chest, every nerve alive, as Adrian reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Oh God.
My hand flew to my mouth when he dropped to one knee, right there in front of the entire underworld, his dark eyes locked on mine.
“Amanda Whitmore,” he said, steady as a vow, fierce as a promise. “You are my sunshine, my strength, my undoing. I have loved you since day one, and I will love you until my last breath. Marry me. Stand at my side not just as my queen, but as my wife. Forever.”
The room erupted in murmurs, but all I could hear was the thundering in my chest. Adrian De Lucca—my king—was kneeling for me.
Tears blurred my vision, a laugh breaking past my lips as I rushed forward, barely remembering to nod before I threw myself into his arms. “Yes,” I choked out, clutching him like he was the only thing tethering me to the earth. “Yes, Adrian. A thousand times yes.”
The roar that followed shook the hall—cheers, applause, the clinking of glasses—but all I knew was him, his arms tight around me, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was raw and claiming and utterly ours.
When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to mine, his whisper was just for me.
“Now,” he said, voice rough, reverent, “the world knows what I’ve always known. You are my queen.”
And in that moment, surrounded by power and danger and history, I didn’t just feel like his queen. I felt like his forever.