Chapter 5 - The Queen of Blackthorne EstateBy Tuesday afternoon, the storm had passed.
Tessa Lane was sitting in a private first-class lounge at JFK International Airport, sipping a cup of gourmet coffee, clutching a stamped passport, a cleared bank statement showing her debt entirely erased, and a one-way ticket to sunny San Diego.
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Mara:
Did you board?
Tessa typed back immediately:
Sitting on the plane now. I still don't understand how you accidentally slept in a mob boss’s bed and ended up running his life, but please send me pictures of the wedding.
Mara, sitting in the sunlit library of Blackthorne Estate with a cashmere throw over her knees and a steaming mug of spiced cider on the antique desk beside her, blushed furiously as she read the message.
The heavy mahogany doors of the library swung open.
Dante walked in, holding a small velvet jeweler’s box. He looked different today—the fierce, terrifying predator of the Brooklyn docks was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he had finally found what he had been searching for his entire life.
He walked over to the desk, pulled up a chair right beside hers, and sat down.
“Tessa made her flight,” Mara said quietly, locking her phone screen.
“Good,” Dante replied. “The private jet is fueled. She’s safe.” He set the velvet box on the desk between them.
Mara looked at the box, her breath catching. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
With trembling fingers, Mara popped the clasp. Inside, resting against black velvet, was an antique platinum ring set with a brilliant, deep-green emerald surrounded by small, flawless diamonds—a ring that had belonged to Dante’s grandmother, the matriarch who had built the foundation of the Marlowe family.
Mara looked up into his gray eyes. “Dante... I run a bakery in Astoria. I have flour in my hair half the time and I burn cookies when I’m distracted.”
“And I run an empire built on shadows, concrete, and iron rules,” Dante said, taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her flour-strengthened knuckles. “For twelve years, this estate was a fortress. Cold. Empty. Guarded against the world. Then you wandered in through the garden doors, complained about your shoes, and fell asleep in my bed like you owned the place.”
He slid the emerald ring onto her finger. It fit with absolute, breathtaking perfection.
“The staff already calls you Queen,” Dante whispered, a slow, devastating smile curving his lips. “And honestly? They’ve never been more right.”
May you like
Mara smiled, leaning across the desk to press her lips softly against his.
Outside the tall library windows, the sun broke through the winter clouds, bathing the entire Blackthorne Estate in golden, unbroken light.
