Page 110 of Desperate Crimes
My Princess.
My Persephone.
I reach across the seat and take her hand.
Her fingers tremble, but she laces them through mine anyway.
Good girl.
Whatever happens tonight, she’ll feel my presence beside her like armor. Like claim.
And if her father wants to go to war?
Then so be it.
Because I’ve already won.
Chapter Twenty-Nine-Leanna
The wrought iron gates creak open, as if they’ve been waiting centuries for this moment.
Or maybe that’s just how I feel inside.
Our limo rolls through slowly, as if it knows we’re driving toward a reckoning.
My parents’ mansion on the Long Island Sound looms ahead, glowing like something out of a dream—or a fairytale with too many teeth.
Every window is lit.
Tiny lights flicker in and out of existence across the long, gauzy drapes. Warm golden bulbs dance across the manicured lawn where valets hustle to park expensive cars, and the air smells like hydrangeas and ocean wind.
Mom has outdone herself. Again.
Wreaths of white roses and twisted bay laurel arch over the entryway. Strings of even more fairy lights glitter like stars tangled in spider silk.
Somewhere, violins play something soft and haunting—beautiful, fragile, like the calm before the storm.
It’s a goddamn masterpiece.
And I’m about to blow the whole thing to hell.
My stomach is doing flips.
My pulse trips and stutters.
My dress clings to my thighs, the blue silk whispering secrets with every step.
But it’s not the gown that keeps me upright.
Not the heels.
Not the expensive jewelry or bloodline or spine I’ve been trained to keep straight since I was old enough to smile for photographs.
It’s him.
Nico. My husband.
He takes my hand without a word.
