Chapter 10
Six months passed. The Ashford estate was fully restored, the scars of the Thanksgiving war erased by the arrival of a vibrant spring. The grand reception room was once again a place of golden light and pristine marble, though the security detail around the perimeter had been quietly, permanently tripled.
Nina stood in front of a gilded mirror in the master suite, adjusting a delicate diamond necklace that rested against her collarbone. She wore a breathtaking, custom-made navy silk gown that draped beautifully over her figure. She was no longer Nina the maid; she was Nina Ashford, the unquestioned, revered queen of the syndicate.
The heavy mahogany doors opened, and Roman walked in, looking devastatingly handsome in a fresh dark three-piece suit. He stopped, his breath catching as he looked at his wife.
"You look beautiful," Roman murmured, crossing the room to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a kiss to the small neck tattoo above his collar.
"I'm nervous," Nina admitted, leaning back against his broad chest, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "This is the first time I'll be introduced to the northern syndicates at the spring gala. What if they still see me as the girl who cleaned your floors?"
"They will see the woman who holds my heart, and the woman who saved my life," Roman said firmly, his dark eyes fiercely protective. "And if anyone dares to look at you with anything less than absolute respect, I will remove their eyes."
Nina laughed softly, a bright, genuine sound that chased the shadows from the room. "Please, no violence tonight. It's a celebration."
Before Roman could promise, the door burst open. Owen ran in, his soft curls bouncing. He wore a miniature tuxedo, holding a toy car in one hand and a newly acquired toy crown in the other.
"Mommy! Papa! It's time for the party!" Owen cheered.
Roman smiled, scooping the toddler into his arms. "We're coming, buddy."
They descended the grand sweeping staircase together, a unified, impenetrable front. The reception room was filled with the elite of the criminal underworld, but as Roman and Nina entered, a hush fell over the crowd—not of fear, but of profound, commanded respect.
The night was a triumph. The alliances were solidified, and the Ashford empire stood stronger than it ever had under the combined, balanced leadership of Roman's ruthless power and Nina's quiet, grounding grace.
Late in the evening, after Owen had been put to bed, Roman and Nina slipped out onto the stone balcony overlooking the sprawling gardens. The night air was warm and sweet.
Roman wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "Are you happy, Nina?"
"More than I ever thought possible," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder.
Suddenly, Dante stepped out onto the balcony, shattering the quiet intimacy. His scarred face was grim, a stark contrast to the celebratory mood inside. He held a small, black envelope in his hands.
"Boss," Dante said, his voice tense. "I’m sorry to interrupt."
"What is it, Dante?" Roman asked, his demeanor instantly shifting back to the hardened leader.
"This was just delivered to the front gate by a courier. He didn't say a word, just handed it over and drove off," Dante reported, handing the envelope to Roman.
Roman opened the envelope, pulling out a single, crisp photograph. It was a surveillance shot of their own balcony, taken from the dark tree line miles away, with crosshairs resting squarely on the center of Nina's navy silk gown.
Beneath the photograph, a single line of text was written in elegant, feminine handwriting—handwriting Roman recognized instantly as Dahlia's.
May you like
You took my crown. Now, I have found a king who will help me take yours. The honeymoon is over.
Roman’s blood ran ice-cold as he pulled Nina violently out of the line of sight, shielding her with his body. The war hadn't ended six months ago. It had only been sleeping, and a much deadlier storm had just arrived at their gates.
