Page 78 of Claimed Through Deception

"Good," I reply, setting my crystal glass down on the polished wood.

I walk across the room, my boots echoing in the sudden silence, and stop in front of the formidable steel safe built into the wall. I spin the dial, the intricate tumblers clicking into place until the solid door swings open. I reach inside, bypassing the stacks of bearer bonds and classified ledgers, and extract a single, crumpled sheet of paper.

It is the employment contract Livia signed months ago, the ridiculous, worthless piece of paper that bound her to a year of servitude in my house. It represents the cage she walked into, the transactional nature of our first encounter, and the illusion that she was ever just a maid scrubbing my floors.

I turn around, holding the contract up so every man in the room can see the ink.

"When I brought Livia Marino into this house, you looked at her as a temporary distraction," I address the Capos, my voice resonating with an authority that demands their undivided attention. "You viewed her as a vulnerability, a civilian who would eventually break under the pressure of our lifestyle. You assumed she was a liability I would discard the moment the violence touched our doorstep."

Dante shifts uncomfortably, dropping his gaze to the floor, well aware of the whispered complaints he circulated when I first elevated her status.

"She proved every single one of you wrong," I continue, my grip tightening on the paper. "When the Falco mercenaries breached the gates and flooded my home, she didn't cower. She didn't beg for her life. She picked up a weapon and prepared to fight a trained hitman to the death to protect the heir to this syndicate. She possesses more courage in her little finger than half the soldiers standing guard outside this room."

I walk back to the conference table, picking up a thick crystal ashtray and placing it squarely in the center of the mahogany wood. I pull a silver lighter from my pocket, flicking the wheel until a bright orange flame erupts. I hold the flame to the edge of the contract, watching the cheap paper catch fire instantly.

I drop the burning document into the ashtray, the flames eating away the words, turning the false imprisonment into nothing but gray ash and smoke.

"Livia is not a maid, and she is not a liability," I declare, locking eyes with each of my commanders to ensure the message penetrates their skulls. "She is the undisputed Queen of the Severato syndicate. She carries my blood, and she carries my authority. From this second forward, her word is my word. If she issues an order, you execute it without hesitation. If she asks for a weapon, you hand her your own. If any man in this organization questions her position, disrespects her presence, or fails to protect her with his dying breath, I will personally skin him alive and mount his head on the perimeter gates. Is that understood?"

Enzo is the first to respond. He sets his tablet face down on the table, stands up, and inclines his head in a gesture of respect. "Understood, Don Niccolò. The Lady Livia commands the same loyalty as the crown itself."

Alessio smirks from his position near the door, raising an imaginary glass in a silent toast, while the rest immediately echo Enzo's vow of submission. The hierarchy is permanently restructured. I paved the world in blood and fire, and I am handing the keys to the kingdom to the woman who holds my soul.

I leave the Capos to finalize the territorial maps, exiting the war room with a singular, driving focus propelling my steps. The adrenaline from the execution has faded, replaced by a consuming, ferocious need to see the woman waiting for me upstairs.

I push the double doors of the master suite open, shedding my tailored suit jacket and tossing it onto the velvet armchair. The room has been restored since the explosion, the shattered windows replaced with reinforced, bulletproof glass, the ruined furniture swapped for pristine, imported mahogany.

Livia is standing near the balcony doors, bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moonlight bleeding through the panes. She wears a flowing white nightgown that drapes elegantly over her curves, the fabric clinging softly to the unmistakable, beautiful swell of her stomach. She is four months pregnant now, the physical evidence of our child becoming a permanent, magnificent fixture that steals my breath every single time I look at her.

She turns at the sound of the door, a radiant, relieved smile transforming her face. She doesn't ask about the blood on my knuckles or the late hour. She simply crosses the room, her bare feet padding softly against the Persian rug, and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek against the center of my chest.

"You smell like smoke and expensive scotch," she murmurs, her fingers tracing the healed ridges of the scar tissue beneath my white cotton shirt. "Is it done?"

"It is done," I confirm, wrapping my arms tightly around her shoulders and burying my face in her fragrant, raven hair. "Falco is dead. The remaining factions surrendered. Alessio is handling Caterina, and the borders are secure. The war is over, mia regina."

She exhales a long, shaky breath, the final remnants of the paranoia draining from her spine. She tilts her head back, searching my eyes with devotion that makes my pulse hammer a frantic rhythm. "I knew you would come back to me. I never doubted it for a second."

"I will always come back to you," I vow, sliding my hands down to cup her face. "But I am tired of living in the spaces between the chaos, Livia. I am tired of knowing you can still walk out the front door whenever you choose."

She frowns, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Niccolò, I am not going anywhere. I told you I am staying."

"I need more than a promise," I insist, my voice dropping to a rough, gravelly hum.

I reach into the pocket of my trousers, extracting the small, velvet box I procured from a private jeweler in Geneva three weeks ago. I do not drop to one knee, we are far past the realm of polite romances.

I flip the lid open with my thumb. Resting on the black velvet is a massive, flawless emerald-cut diamond, flanked by two smaller stones, set in a band of solid platinum. It is a blinding, obscene display of wealth and power, designed to warn every man on the planet that she belongs exclusively to me.

Livia gasps, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as her brown eyes widen in shock.

"I’ve burned your employment contract," I tell her, pulling the ring from the velvet slot and taking her left hand in mine. "I declared you the Queen of this syndicate before my Capos, and they swore their lives to your service. You are no longer an employee, and you are no longer just my lover. You are my partner, my equal, and the mother of my heir."

I slide the cold platinum over her ring finger, pushing the massive diamond perfectly into place. The fit is exact, a physical manifestation of the bond tying our souls together.

"We are binding ourselves legally, spiritually, and permanently," I command, my thumb stroking the soft skin of her knuckles as I lock my gaze onto hers. "You are going to take the Severato name, Livia. You are going to wear my ring, you are going to rule this empire by my side, and you are never going to take it off."

Tears spill over her lashes, tracking rapidly down her cheeks, but her smile is blinding. She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't express a single ounce of fear.

"Yes," she whispers, throwing her arms around my neck and pulling my mouth down to hers. "Yes, Niccolò Severato. I am yours."