Chapter 10 - Reign Over the Ruins
Six months later.
The spring sun warmed the granite headstones of the Vance family plot in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Fresh white lilies lay at the base of Elise Vance Hart’s monument, their sweet perfume carrying on the cool April breeze.
I stood beside the stone, wearing an ivory trench coat, my hair fluttering in the wind. On my finger, the black Moretti diamond caught the bright midday light, no longer looking cold, but gleaming like an unbreakable shield.
Behind me, Roman stood quietly by the path, giving me space, his hands resting in the pockets of his dark overcoat. He never hovered, never crowded. He was simply there—a constant, immovable fortress at my back.
I touched the cold marble of my mother's name.
"It's finished, Mom," I whispered.
Edward had taken a plea deal the previous week: eighteen years at a federal correctional facility in Pennsylvania with no chance of early parole. Damian Lockwood had been sentenced to twelve years for financial fraud, his reputation completely obliterated, his name synonymous with ruin. Vivian had fled New York entirely, working as a hostess in Miami, abandoned by the society circles that once embraced her.
The Atlantic Harbor Terminal was rising along the Brooklyn waterfront—the largest deep-water logistics hub on the eastern seaboard, flying the Vance-Moretti crest.
I turned away from the grave and walked down the stone path toward my husband.
Roman watched me approach, a subtle, possessive warmth softening the sharp lines of his face. As I reached him, he held out his hand. I slid my fingers into his, our wedding rings clicking together with a soft, familiar sound.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Where are we going?"
"The launch ceremony for the first container ship begins at three," Roman said, pulling me gently against his side as we walked toward the waiting car. "The governor is there. The mayor is there. And they are waiting for the chairman of Vance Holdings to christen the fleet."
I looked up at him, a genuine smile curving my lips. "And what does the Butcher of Manhattan do while his wife christens ships?"
Roman leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the corner of my lips, his hand resting securely against the small of my back.
May you like
"He stands beside her," Roman murmured against my skin, his voice dark and proud, "and dares anyone to get in her way."
We stepped into the Maybach, the heavy door clicking shut against the world outside. The car accelerated smoothly down the winding cemetery road, heading back toward the city—a city that no longer belonged to the men who had betrayed me, but to the empire we were building together upon their ruins.
