She smiled then—a small, tentative thing, but real. The first genuine smile I'd seen from her in too long. "I know," she said softly. "I've always known, even when you didn't. Even when you couldn't admit it to yourself."
The understanding in her voice, the acceptance, the forgiveness implicit in those simple words, undid me in ways violence never could, never had. I reached for her hand again, needing the contact, the connection, the tangible proof that she was here, that she had chosen me, that we were moving forward together into whatever came next.
Her fingers intertwined with mine, warm and solid and real. A promise. A beginning. A choice freely made by both of us, for the first time since our paths had crossed.
As we drove away from the O'Sullivan estate, from the death and violence and old patterns that had defined both our lives for too long, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest—not the cold calculation that had guided me for years, not the obsessive need that had driven me to take her against her will, but something warmer, steadier, more sustainable.
Peace. The peace that comes from knowing you are exactly where you're meant to be, with exactly who you're meant to be with, moving toward a future that holds possibility rather than certainty, choice rather than control, love rather than possession.
What began as a kidnapping had ended with a kingdom. And this time, no one would take her crown.
Or mine.
28
GRACE
Six months later…
The Manhattan skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse, a tapestry of lights against the velvet darkness of evening. I stood watching it, wrapped in a silk robe, a glass of wine in my hand, savoring the moment of quiet before tonight's summit.
So much had changed in half a year. The woman who had once been a captive, then a pawn, then a bargaining chip between powerful men now stood at the center of her own power. The O'Sullivan empire, restructured under Connor's initial leadership, had gradually shifted to joint control between us—the sister who had been discarded and the brother who had chosen her over blood ties and tradition.
The Conti organization, still technically headed by Dante, now operated with Rafe and me as equal partners in all major decisions. What had begun as an uneasy alliance between former enemies had evolved into something more stable, more sustainable—a new power structure that balanced the strengths of both families while eliminating the weaknesses that had made them vulnerable to each other.
And at the center of it all: us. Rafe and I. No longer captor and captive. No longer predator and prey. But partners in every sense—business, strategy, life, love.
"You should be getting ready." Rafe's voice came from behind me, warm and familiar. I didn't turn, but smiled as his reflection appeared in the window, coming to stand behind me. "The dons will be arriving in an hour."
"Let them wait," I replied, leaning back against him as his arms encircled my waist. "A queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early."
He laughed, the sound still rare enough to be precious. "A philosophy your father would have appreciated, even as he hated everything else you've become."
The mention of my father no longer stung as it once had. Patrick O'Sullivan had been dead for six months, his legacy dismantled and rebuilt into something he wouldn't recognize—something stronger, more adaptable, more forward-thinking than the empire of fear and control he had constructed.
"He never saw me," I said, watching our reflection in the darkened glass. "Not really. Not as I was or could be. Only as what he wanted me to be."
"His mistake," Rafe murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. "My gain."
I turned in his arms, studying the face that had once terrified me, then captivated me, and now belonged to the man I had chosen freely, with open eyes and full understanding of all he was—the darkness and the light, the control and the vulnerability, the monster and the man.
"Do you ever regret it?" I asked, a question I rarely voiced but sometimes wondered. "Taking me that night? Starting all of this?"
His expression turned thoughtful, his hands warm against my silk-covered back. "I regret the pain I caused you," he saidfinally. "The fear. The loss of choice. But the outcome?" His eyes held mine, dark and certain. "Never. I would tear the world apart again to end up here, with you, like this."
The raw honesty in his voice, in his eyes, still had the power to take my breath away. This was the Rafe that only I saw—the man beneath the calculated exterior, the vulnerability beneath the control, the capacity for love that had surprised us both with its depth and transformative power.
"We should get ready," I said, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. "Make them wait too long, and they might start to question our strength. Our resolve."
"Let them question," Rafe replied, his eyes darkening with the predatory intensity that still sent shivers down my spine. "Let them doubt. It will make the lesson all the more effective when they see you tonight."
I smiled, a expression that held nothing of the uncertain girl I'd once been and everything of the woman I'd become. "Then let's make sure the lesson is unforgettable."
The black silkdress felt like armor against my skin—sleek, dangerous, a second skin that moved with me as I walked. Cut high at the neck but open at the back, it projected both power and sensuality, a combination I had learned to wield with precision in the months since my father's death.
Around my throat, a single strand of black pearls—a gift from Rafe on the day we moved into the penthouse. "Not a collar," he had said as he fastened it. "Never that. A crown."
At my thigh, secured in a custom holster invisible beneath the silk, rested the dagger—three inches of perfectly balanced steel, its handle crafted from my father's signet ring, melted down and reforged into something that served me rather than controlled me. A symbol. A statement. A promise.
