Chapter 10
A week passed. The Ashford estate was a hive of activity, swarming with contractors and craftsmen working around the clock to erase the scars of the winter war. The shattered crystal chandeliers were replaced, the bullet-pocked marble floors repaired, and the grand double doors reinforced with solid steel.
The Rowe syndicate had been entirely absorbed by Tristan’s forces. With Marcus Rowe dead and Sabrina exiled with nothing but the clothes on her back, Tristan’s absolute dominance over the city was cemented.
Lila stood on the sweeping stone balcony of the master suite, breathing in the crisp, freezing morning air. She wore a beautiful, tailored emerald green dress—a quiet, triumphant reclaiming of the color Sabrina had once flaunted. Her fair skin glowed with a healthy flush. She was no longer a maid; she was the unquestioned lady of the Ashford syndicate.
The heavy mahogany doors opened softly, and Tristan stepped onto the balcony. He wore a fresh dark three-piece suit, looking devastatingly handsome, the small neck tattoo visible above his collar. He walked up behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and pulling her back against his broad chest.
"You're going to catch a cold out here," Tristan murmured, pressing a warm kiss to the side of her neck.
"I was just looking at the snow," Lila smiled, leaning into his embrace. "It looks so peaceful."
"It is," Tristan promised, turning her around in his arms to face him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He opened it, revealing a stunning, flawless diamond ring. "I know we did things out of order, fighting a war before we had a first date. But I want you by my side for the rest of my life, Lila. Will you marry me?"
Tears of pure joy welled in her clear, expressive eyes. She didn't hesitate for a single second. "Yes. Yes, Tristan."
He slid the ring onto her finger, a perfect fit, before capturing her lips in a deep, passionate, breathtaking kiss. It was a promise of a new beginning, forged in fire and sealed in love.
Their moment of perfect peace was shattered by a sharp, urgent knock on the bedroom door.
Dante, Tristan’s scarred capo, stepped into the room. He did not look celebratory. His face was pale, his jaw set with extreme tension. He held a small, black encrypted tablet in his hands.
"Boss," Dante said, his voice tight. "Forgive the intrusion. But we have a critical situation."
Tristan’s demeanor instantly shifted, the loving fiancé vanishing, replaced by the hardened mafia boss. He stepped in front of Lila protectively. "What is it, Dante?"
"It’s an intercepted message from the southern cartel," Dante reported, handing the tablet to Tristan. "It bypassed our primary firewalls. It was sent directly to Sabrina Rowe’s offshore accounts just hours before she disappeared from our radar."
Lila’s blood ran cold. She stepped up beside Tristan, looking at the glowing screen.
The message was brief, written in stark red text over a surveillance photo of Tristan and Lila standing on the balcony just minutes ago.
The local war is lost, but the debt remains. The cartel accepts your contract, Sabrina. The Ashford bloodline ends tonight.
May you like
Tristan’s dark eyes locked onto the distant tree line beyond the estate walls. The war with the Rowe family had been a localized skirmish. Sabrina had not run away; she had sold her soul to an international monster to buy her revenge.
The peace had lasted exactly seven days, and a much deadlier storm had just arrived at their gates.
