Chapter 15 - The New Reign
One year later.
The sun was shining brightly over the Kane estate, reflecting off the pristine waters of the massive outdoor swimming pool. The tall iron gates were open, but not because of a security breach—today was a celebration.
The grand lawn was filled with beautiful decorations, flowers, and laughter. The heads of the five families were all present, wearing their finest suits, but they weren't talking about smuggling routes or turf wars. They were standing in a semi-circle, raising their glasses in a toast.
I stood on the terrace, looking down at the crowd. My hair had grown back into a sleek, sophisticated pixie cut that framed my face perfectly. I wore a tailored, emerald-green dress, looking every bit the queen I had earned the right to be.
Beside me stood Roman, looking relaxed and happier than I had ever seen him. His arm was wrapped around my waist, his thumb gently tracing hip.
Down on the grass, a little girl with big, stormy gray eyes and a head full of wild dark curls was taking her first unsteady steps, holding onto Marcus’s hand for balance.
Valentina Kane. The undisputed heiress to the largest empire on the East Coast.
“She looks just like you when she’s angry,” Roman murmured into my ear, a small smile playing on his lips.
“She has your stubbornness,” I replied, leaning against his shoulder. “The council approved the final financial restructuring this morning. The legitimate side of the empire is completely clean now. Every dime is secure in Valentina’s trust.”
“You did that, Bianca,” Roman said, turning me to face him, his eyes filled with endless devotion. “You saved this family. You saved me.”
“We saved each other,” I said gently, reaching up to touch his cheek.
A guard walked up the steps, holding a small silver tray with a single piece of mail on it. “Mrs. Kane, this just arrived from the federal penitentiary in upstate New York.”
I picked up the small, stamped postcard. It didn't have a message on it. It was just a clipping from a newspaper showing a picture of me and Roman at a charity gala a few weeks ago. On the back, a single line was written in shaky handwriting: “You won.”
I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel satisfaction. I just felt a deep, profound peace.
May you like
I tossed the postcard into a nearby fire pit, watching the paper curl and turn to ash in the bright afternoon sun.
Roman took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, and together we walked down the steps to join our daughter. The past was buried, the traitors were gone, and the empire was ours.
