Chapter 10
They walked slowly across the grass, their footsteps making no sound. The fifty tables from the garden party had been hastily cleared away by the staff, leaving the expansive lawn looking peaceful and serene.
They approached the flower bed where the confrontation had begun. The damp potting soil was still scattered slightly over the grass where Freya had thrown the basket at Hester, a lingering reminder of the chaos.
Malcolm stopped in front of the delicate, blooming plant he had carefully pressed back into the earth the day before.
He knelt down, his dark suit pants brushing the grass. He examined the stem and the leaves, checking to see if the violent uprooting had killed the fragile flower.
"Will it survive?" Freya asked quietly, crouching down beside him.
"Do you believe I would allow anything my mother planted to die so easily?" Malcolm asked, a rare, genuine smile touching the corners of his mouth.
He gently patted the soil around the base of the plant, ensuring it was firmly packed. The flower stood tall, slightly bruised but undeniably alive, reaching toward the cinematic morning light.
Malcolm stood up, wiping the dirt from his hands. He looked out over the vast, beautiful expanse of the estate, then down at the woman who had fought for him when the entire world had turned against him.
"The transition of power will be complicated over the next few weeks," Malcolm said, his voice returning to its measured, serious cadence. "The remaining capos will need to be reassured. There will be meetings, negotiations, and likely more violence in the city before the dust settles."
"I'm not afraid," Freya said, standing up to meet his gaze. "I know who you are."
"Do you?" Malcolm asked, stepping closer to her.
"You are a man who protects what belongs to him," Freya answered simply, her expressive eyes completely devoid of fear.
Malcolm stared at her, captivated by the movie-star beauty of her softly oval face. The sophisticated black maid dress she wore highlighted the feminine perfection of her silhouette, but it was the quiet courage and unwavering loyalty in her eyes that truly held his heart.
"Are you prepared to stand beside me when they come to pledge their loyalty?" Malcolm asked, extending his hand.
Freya took his hand without hesitation. "I am."
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"Shall we begin, then?" Malcolm asked.
They turned and walked back toward the mansion together, their hands securely intertwined. The bright, luminous colors of the morning sun washed over them, casting a warm, elegant light on the new king and queen of the syndicate as they prepared to rule their empire.
