Chapter 19
Somewhere across the city, in our penthouse glass room, Zacharias watched the broadcast on mute. His jaw clenched.
His fingers dug into the armrest of the couch.
And beneath his belt, he throbbed–hard, hot, obsessed–watching me draped in silk and power, defending our love like I was born for it.
Because I was.
***
And that night, the necklace came wrapped in black velvet and cowardice.
Twelve karats of blood diamond and delusion, set like a collar, like I was some pretty little dog meant to crawl back to its master.
The note was worse.
“You were always meant to rule beside me!
Come back. I accept you with open arms.
-Winston
I read it twice, then laughed so hard my mascara ran. Rule beside him?
What the fuck?
I didn’t even want to breathe in the same direction.
He really thought I’d forget the betrayal, the grave he buried me in with his name etched over my ribs.
So I walked to my weaponsmith. Told him to melt the necklace down. Set it into .45 hollow points. Ten of them. Polished with lacquer and named after every lie Winston ever told me.
When Zacharias found them cooling in a tray of steel oil, his brows knit into that furrow I only ever see when he’s fighting the beast inside.
He touched one of the bullets, watching the glitter glint through the metal
casing.
“You melted diamonds,” he said. “Why?”
I leaned back against the marble counter, sipping espresso, robe loose at the
hip.
“Because I’m done bleeding for men who bite the hand that feeds them.”
He looked at me for a long time.
12:28 Mon, 19 May CM.
Then he said, voice low, “You want me to kill him? Just say it.”
I laughed.
“Zacharias,” I purred, walking toward him, brushing my fingers down his chest until I reached the waistband of his slacks, “If I wanted Winston dead, he’d be ash in a Prada box already. I don’t need you to kill for me. I need you to reign
with me.”
He smirked. “Still. Offer stands.”
Fuck, I loved him.
***
Later that night, we arrived at the summit.
Underground, beneath a marble hall lined with cigars, secrets, and too many cameras disguised as chandeliers. Every syndicate was there–old blood, new threats, and greedy little rats licking the rims of champagne flutes like they’d
earned it.
I wore black velvet with a slit that could make nations fall.
Zacharias wore matte navy and war in his eyes.
We took our place at the central table like the gods we are.
Then it happened.
Some fat–lipped don from the Bering cartel leaned forward, licking his teeth.
“Pretty thing you got there, Colombo,” he sneered. “Trophy like that must be hard to keep in line.”
Zacharias didn’t blink.
He didn’t smile.
He just stood.
And picked up the ceremonial blade from the table.
“She’s not my trophy,” he said. “She’s the hand that steadies the crown.”
Then he grabbed the man’s wrist and sliced his palm open. Blood spilled like
warning.
The room froze.
No one dared move.
Zacharias looked down at him.
“You speak again, I take the whole arm.”
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My pulse didn’t quicken. It purred.
Because that was my husband.
Dangerous, divine, loyal to only one woman–and it wasn’t some memory.
It was me.
I touched his shoulder as he sat back down. He kissed my knuckles like I was royalty.
And for the first time in years, I felt like it.
kkk
But of course. Peace never lasts.
We had just returned to the penthouse when my burner rang. A number that belonged to only one man.
My father.
I answered.
His voice roared through the speaker like thunder crashing through steel.
“Scarlett. What the hell did you do?! Did you shoot your sister?! Answer me!”
***
ALINA’S POV
Location: St. Gracelyn Memorial, Private East Wing Suite
Time: Two hours after the gala shooting
The morphine was starting to wear off, and frankly, that was just unacceptable.
I pressed the nurse call button again. Twice. Okay–five times. Whatever. I was bleeding less than dramatically now, which was annoying, because the bandage ruined the neckline of my silk slip dress. And no one seemed to be acknowledging the gravity of the moment.
I had just been shot. At a charity gala. In front of press.
I adjusted the IV cord delicately with my good arm and sniffed. The Chanel perfume was still clinging to my collarbones–thank God. At least I wouldn’t die without class.
My phone buzzed on the tray.
Father.
Finally,
I picked up, laying the dramatics on as thick as the oxygen in this room.
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12:28 Mon, 19 May GM.
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“Papa?” I whimpered, making sure my voice cracked just enough. “It’s me… I’m at the hospital. I… I’ve been shot.”
“What? What the hell happened?!”
“It was Scarlett,” I whispered, eyes fluttering shut even though no one was watching. “She planned this, I know she did. She knew Zacharias was starting to remember me–us. And she just… she couldn’t handle it.”
Silence on the other end. I filled it fast.
“She sent someone. I saw the shooter’s eyes. Cold. Like hers. It was supposed to be me dead on those marble stairs, Papa wants to erase me.”
“You think your sister staged a hit on you in front of the media?”
“She’s twisted! She’s always had this… this obsession with proving she’s better than me. First she stole Winston, now Zacharias. What’s next? My life?”
I let a real tear slip then, just one. The nurses always believed the first one. “She always gets away with everything. You let her walk around in those black. dresses like she’s some tragic queen, but she’s dangerous, Papa. She’ll burn the whole legacy down if you keep letting her win.”
“She’s being questioned now.”
“Good,” I snapped, before softening again. “Maybe this time, she won’t slither her way out. I’m tired of being the one left bleeding while she plays victim with blood on her hands.”
“Rest. I’ll handle this,”
I hung up and tossed the phone gently onto the pillow beside me. The cameras were probably already swarming outside the hospital. Poor me. Brave little heiress. Caught in the crossfire of a sister’s obsession.
Let the world eat it up. Let them turn Scarlett Colombo into the monster she always played at.
I closed my eyes and smiled faintly.
Let’s see how golden her crown looks… dripping in blame.
ATA
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12:28 Mon, 19 May G
