Page 155 of Brutal Crown
I watch Lia move through the tables like she belongs here. Because she does.
It’s crazy how our fates have changed in a matter of months. The last time we dined with the Morettis, just the two families, she was a mere servant. Now, she looks like a queen.
My queen.
She’s wearing a pale blue silk dress that clings to her soft curves. Her dark hair is swept back into soft waves, and a silver pin holds the curly strands in place. Her chin is high, her gaze steady as she finds me and comes to sit beside me.
“This is your third bathroom break in an hour,” I whisper into her ear, deliberately letting my lips brush against the skin.
She hits my stomach lightly with her elbow. “You did this to me.”
“How is pregnancy going for you, Rosalia?” Elena asks.
Everyone’s attention turns to Lia, and she freezes like a deer in headlights.
“Um…” My hand finds hers, and I squeeze. “Smooth so far.”
“You’re, like, the prettiest pregnant woman I’ve ever seen,” Lucia gushes before taking a large gulp of wine.
I chuckle when I see the tinge of red on Lia’s cheeks.
Lorenzo, who is seated on my other side, grins. “You’ve smiled more between last night and today than all the years of your life combined.”
Everyone laughs.
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” I say dryly.
He raises his glass. “To the end of arranged marriages and the beginning of free ones.”
I clink my glass to his. “To rewriting the rules.”
It wasn’t a revolution, at least not yet. Just a single clause, tucked deep inside the Society’s ancient decrees. It was the first rule I changed the moment I took my position as Keeper. One line, one rule, barely visible but enough. Enough to make arranged matches no longer mandatory. Enough to open a door that’s been locked for centuries.
The Elders didn’t protest. Not because they agreed—because they were watching. Measuring. Waiting to see what I’d do withthe power I’d claimed. I didn’t win the war. I just moved the first piece.
And in this world, that’s as good as a declaration.
My attention is drawn back to the table at the sound of my father’s loud laughter. He’s mid-conversation with Giovanni, and in that moment, they look like two best friends just chatting about nothing and everything.
And in this strange, rare peace, I feel something shift.
Hope.
I glance at Lorenzo to see a certain look cross his eyes. I know who he’s thinking about.
Benito. His best friend. The one who used to sit beside him at these tables, laughing too loudly and pouring everyone’s drinks like he owned the room.
“You’re thinking about him.”
I don’t have to specify who I mean. He already knows.
“I am,” he says quietly. “Every day.”
I nod, my smile fading. “He’d have been proud of you. He believed in you more than any of us ever did.”
He stares down into his glass. “Then he died for it. He should’ve been here. It’s fucked up, you know. He left a wife and child behind. And I left them too. For years.”
“You didn’t have a choice. You were marked. Going into hiding was the only way to survive.”
