Chapter 60 - Stella
Stella
The doors of the conference room swing open, and I don’t hesitate.
My head is high, my stride deliberate, the click of my stilettos striking the floor like punctuation.
The merlot suit, the cream silk beneath, the sharp black heels—it’s armor, and I wear it well.
Elaine walks beside me, every inch as composed, our presence filling the room before we even reach the table.
I stop at the head of the conference table, eyes locking on Salvatore. “Let’s finalize the terms,” I say, crisp and professional, like the room has always belonged to me.
His gaze drags over me, slow and measuring, the kind of look meant to find cracks. A smirk touches his mouth. “You look… different,” he says, the words smooth but taunting.
I grin, unbothered. “You know, Enzo, I woke up this morning and remembered who the fuck I am.”
The silence that follows bends around me instead of pressing down. For once, it isn’t Salvatore who owns the pause. It’s me.
I lower myself into the chair at the head of the table, crossing my legs slowly, deliberately, the stiletto dangling like punctuation.
Enzo nods toward Elaine, and she slips gracefully into the seat beside me, a silent show of force.
His hands rest on the armrests of his chair, deliberate and steady.
The only sound in the room is the sharp tick of his watch—expensive, precise, and merciless.
“I assume you received my gift yesterday?” His tone is silk wrapped around steel.
My chin tilts, unbothered. “How did you get him to sign without a fight?”
He leans back, lips curving. “He and I had a… chat. We came to an agreement. He is no longer a concern of yours. This”—his arms spread wide, claiming the room, the empire, the weight of the name—“is all yours, Stellina. And he will never claw his way to the top again, not on the wreckage he created.”
My pulse thrums, steady, cold. He doesn’t give me long to savor it.
“Now, for your part of the arrangement. You’ll know when the first package arrives. Once received, you simply put it through the cremation process. During a burial, you dig slightly deeper, scatter the ashes, backfill, and proceed with the service as if nothing happened.”
I blink, the words folding in slowly. “I don’t understand…” I say it more for the confirmation than the clarity.
Salvatore’s smile sharpens, cruel and knowing. “I told you, Stella. Up in smoke. That’s how pests disappear.”
He rises, moving toward the door. At the threshold, he glances at Elaine, his expression unreadable.
“And Elaine, don’t be surprised if we call on you for legal counsel.”
Then his eyes return to me, sharp as glass. “Now show me how loyal you really are.”
Days later, my phone buzzes—one word from Enzo.
Enzo: Delivery.
Elaine and I drive in silence, the weight of it pressing down heavier with every mile. The crematorium looms ahead, empty and waiting, its shadow stretching long in the late light. Inside, the chill of concrete and steel greets us, sterile and unfeeling.
The body bag is black. Plain. Unmarked. It waits on the gurney like it’s been expecting us.
Dread coils through me, thick and suffocating, but I already know what has to be done. I glance at Elaine, the question catching in my throat. “Do we… verify who it is?”
Her eyes don’t flinch, her voice steady. “No lies, Widow. I don’t want a ‘what if’ lingering over our heads. We need to know—without doubt—that this is behind us.”
Then her voice dips lower, velvet over steel.
“Because I want forever with you, Stella. I want to end every night tangled in your arms and wake to your hair draped across me in the morning. I want to fight with you, laugh with you, and build with you. I want to love you in every way there is to love a person—body, heart, and soul. And I can’t do that if ghosts are still between us.
I won’t let them stand in our bed, at our table, or in our future.
The only way forward is certainty. The only way forward is us. ”
My lips curve despite the dread clawing at me. “You don’t get to promise me forever and then leave me wondering. Let’s look.”
My hand trembles as I grip the zipper of the black bag. I take a breath, not ready for what I’ll see. Elaine steps up behind me, her arms circling my waist, her hand steady over mine. “We’re in this together,” she whispers.
Slowly, we lower the zipper—just enough. The light catches on his riding jacket, the edge of a Cordova Linda football shirt beneath it, and the band of his wedding ring still on his finger. His face is lost in shadow, but it doesn’t matter. Those are his things. That’s him.
The sound that leaves me isn’t a scream, just a broken gasp that barely escapes. I turn into Elaine, burying my face against her shoulder. She holds me tighter, her hands moving across my back as if she can smooth away what we just saw.
It’s him. It has to be.
“Look, baby. This was the plan. We knew the outcome. No more deadlines. No more wreckage hanging over us. Just us, and the life we get to claim. No one can take that now.”
Her voice is steady, her eyes unshaken—calm, collected, a queen in the firelight. I don’t know how she does it, how she holds it together when I feel undone.
“Okay.” My voice steadies against hers. “Let’s finish this.”
The furnace is still burning hot from the last cremation, heat radiating against the tiled walls. This is almost too easy, like fate left the door open for us. Elaine’s eyes meet mine, steady as ever. No one will question another run—it's the perfect cover. This is how cleaning is done.
My thoughts feel heavier than they should, echoing the role I choose. The Carringtons keep things tidy. No mess, no questions. Just fire, ash, and silence.
We grip the bag together, the weight dragging against the metal tray, and I force myself not to falter. The chamber yawns wide, flames already waiting. My stomach knots, but Elaine squeezes my hand once before we let go.
The fire swallows him whole.
I used to think fire was destruction. Now I know better. Fire keeps the ledger balances. Ash buries the truth. Silence belongs to me.
The chamber seals, locking away the last trace of him. The heat lingers, pressing against my skin, branding me, not with lies, but truths between Elaine and me. There’s no undoing this. Donovan Carrington is gone, and no one will ever know but us.