Chapter 9
"I'm fine," Iona whispered against his shirt, her trembling slowly subsiding in the warmth of his embrace. "I just... I thought they were going to take me away before you got back."
"Would I ever let anyone take you from me?" Cormac murmured, burying his face in her dark, neatly pinned hair. The scent of vanilla and clean linen calmed the violent storm raging in his chest.
He pulled back slightly, framing her softly oval face with his heavily tattooed hands. His thumbs gently brushed away a single tear that had escaped her eye.
"The immediate threat is handled," Cormac said, his deep voice steady and reassuring. "Gareth and Eleanor will be escorted to the airstrip within the hour. The men loyal to them have already been disarmed and removed from the property. The house is secure."
"And the rest of the syndicate?" Iona asked, her brow furrowing with concern. "Eleanor said they would rise against you."
"Do you believe the syndicate follows weakness?" Cormac asked, a confident, lethal smile touching the corners of his mouth. "They follow strength. When they learn I exiled my own cousin for treason rather than execute him, they will understand that my judgment is absolute, but measured. It will solidify my position, not weaken it."
Iona looked up into his handsome, angular face, marveling at the terrifying brilliance of the man she loved. He wasn't just a brutal enforcer; he was a master strategist, always ten steps ahead of his enemies.
"What happens to me now?" Iona asked softly. "I can't just go back to serving wine in the gallery."
Cormac’s eyes darkened with intense, quiet affection. "Do you honestly believe I would ever let you wear that uniform again?"
He stepped back, turning toward the massive oak desk in the corner of the room. He opened a drawer and retrieved a small, velvet box. He walked back to Iona, stopping inches away from her.
He didn't kneel. He simply held the box out, snapping it open with his thumb. Inside rested a breathtaking, flawless diamond ring, the stones catching the luminous morning light pouring through the windows.
"Iona," Cormac began, his voice dropping into a low, mesmerizing register. "Will you do me the absolute honor of becoming my wife?"
Iona gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Tears of sheer, overwhelming joy flooded her eyes. She looked from the ring to the cold, dangerous Mafia boss who had laid his entire empire at her feet.
"Yes," Iona breathed, laughing through her tears. "Yes, of course I will."
May you like
Cormac removed the ring from the box and gently slid it onto her finger. The diamond sparkled brilliantly, a symbol of protection, power, and profound love. He pulled her against him, kissing her deeply, sealing a promise that no one in the city would ever dare to break.
The quiet housemaid who had punched a king to protect her boss was now the undisputed queen of the Briarwood syndicate.
