Page 124 of Crown of Blood

The signet ring catches the dim light as I press my palm flat against the cold stone.

"I will be a different Don than he was," I vow. "I will protect what's mine, but I'll build something worth protecting. Something that will outlast the blood and violence. Something our child can inherit without carrying the same scars I bear."

The promise hangs in the still air of the crypt.

Witnessed only by the dead.

I rise slowly, a weight both lifted and settled more firmly upon my shoulders. The ring on my finger no longer feels like my father's—it has become mine, just as the empire it represents has become mine to reshape according to my vision.

As I walk from the crypt, back toward the mansion where my wife waits, I feel something shift in the foundations of the world I've inherited.

The king rises not just to claim his father's throne, but to build his own.

And with Bianca by my side, I will forge a legacy that even death cannot touch.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bianca

Themirrorreflectsawoman I barely recognize.

Teresa's hands work deftly at my hair, weaving diamonds through the intricate updo she's spent the past hour perfecting.

The tiara, an ancient Ravelli heirloom that once belonged to Elena, waits on a velvet cushion beside us, its weight both literal and symbolic.

"Almost ready,tesoro," Teresa murmurs, sliding another pin into place.

My gown is a masterpiece of midnight blue silk and gold embroidery, the bodice tailored to accommodate the subtle swell of my stomach. Four months pregnant now, and just beginning to show—a fact that will be impossible to hide tonight.

Not that we plan to.

The Ravelli heir growing inside me is as much a statement of power as the coronation itself.

"There," Teresa says, stepping back to admire her work. "Elena would be proud."

The comparison no longer stings. Instead, it feels like a blessing, perhaps the highest one Teresa can bestow.

I touch the Ravelli crest that hangs at my throat, then trace the scar above my heart where Luca's blade claimed me as his all those months ago.

"The cars are ready," Teresa informs me, lifting the tiara with steady hands. "The guests have begun to arrive."

As she places the tiara on my head, its weight settles like destiny. Tonight, I step fully into my role as Luca's queen. As the mother of the next Ravelli heir. As the woman who killed for her place at this table.

A knock echoes through the room. Teresa opens the door to reveal Luca, resplendent in a tuxedo so perfectly tailored it might have been painted onto his powerful frame.

His eyes darken when he sees me.

"Leave us," he tells Teresa without taking his gaze from mine.

She slips out, closing the door behind her.

"You look..." Luca steps closer, words failing him for perhaps the first time since I've known him.

"Queenly?" I suggest, a hint of my old defiance coloring my tone.

His hand finds my stomach. "You look likemine."

Tonight, that single word doesn't chafe. It doesn't feel like a collar or a cage. It feels like belonging. Like purpose. Like power of my own.

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