I rise, pulling her up and into my arms. “I’m going to hold you to that,” I murmur against her lips before claiming her mouth in a kiss that promises everything.
When we break apart, she looks down at the ring as it catches the firelight. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “Where did it come from?”
“Alessandro. It was my grandmother’s.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “He approves, by the way. Says you’re worthy of it. High praise, coming from him.”
She looks up, surprised. “Really? I thought he considered me a liability.”
“He did,” I acknowledge. “Until he saw what I see—that you make me stronger, not weaker. That we’re better together.”
Lea smiles, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips that makes my blood stir. “Well,” she says, taking my hand and leading me toward the bedroom, “we should probably test that theory. Thoroughly. Just to be certain.”
As I follow her, I feel something I’ve never experienced. Not just desire, though that is certainly present. Not just the satisfaction of a game won. But something deeper. The quiet certainty of a foundation being laid, stone by heavy stone. Our foundation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LEA
I stareat the door of the Chicago Investigative Journal, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Almost three months since I first walked through this entrance, brimming with ambition and the burning desire for vengeance. Now I return to close that chapter of my life, a woman transformed.
My fingers twist the platinum and diamond ring on my left hand—a nervous habit I’ve developed over the past forty-eight hours. The weight of it still feels foreign, like a beautiful shackle I’ve willingly clasped around my finger. I catch sight of my reflection in the glass door—designer blazer over a silk blouse, tailored pants, and heels. The woman staring back at me looks polished, confident, powerful.
A stranger.
With a deep breath, I push through the door and step into the chaos of the newsroom. The familiar sound washes over me—ringing phones, rapid-fire typing, heated debates over headlines.For a moment, I’m struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu. Nothing has changed here, yet everything has changed for me.
“Holy shit, look what the cat dragged in.”
I turn to see Sienna approaching, camera bag slung over her shoulder, her short dark bob slightly disheveled as always. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my appearance.
“Well, well, well,” she says, circling me like a wary predator. “Someone’s gotten an upgrade.”
I attempt a smile. “It’s good to see you too, Sienna.”
“Where the hell have you been? Months of complete radio silence. I’ve been texting, calling—” She pauses, her gaze dropping to my left hand. I instinctively move to hide it, but it’s too late. Her eyes widen.
“We are absolutely having a drink later,” she says firmly. “And you are telling me everything.” She glances toward Harrison’s office. “He’s been on the warpath all day. Fair warning.”
“Thanks.”
Sienna’s expression softens slightly. “Whatever’s going on with you... are you okay?”
The simplicity of the question catches me off guard. Am I okay? I’ve discovered my mother is a North Korean operative who murdered my father. I’ve killed a man. I’ve fallen in love with someone who controls half the city’s criminal enterprises. I’m engaged to a man who broke me down and built me back up again.
“I’m... finding my way,” I answer truthfully.
She studies me, then nods once. “Go face the music. I’ll be waiting.”
The walk to Harrison’s office feels endless. Heads turn as I pass, whispers following in my wake. I haven’t been completely off the grid—my engagement to Nico made the society pages three days ago, a tasteful announcement accompanied by a photo from Eleanor’s gala. The rumors must be flying through the newsroom like wildfire.
I knock on Harrison’s door, the sound sharp and decisive.
“Enter,” comes the gruff response.
Harrison Wells sits behind his perpetually cluttered desk, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scribbles notes on a printout. He doesn’t look up immediately.
“Unless you’re bringing me the Varela exposé, I don’t want to hear it,” he growls.
“I’m not,” I say simply.
