Page 165 of Vow Of Fire

“Now, I’ll let you get back to your party.”

The Agora Gallery was mine again.

Los Santos Rotos had melted out of New York like frost off a windowpane. It started three days after the docks, when a warehouse in Red Hook burned to the ground. It was so bad, the fire department didn’t bother trying to save it. Two more stash houses in Queens went the same night.

By the end of the week, the news anchors had run out of synonyms for “suspected gang violence,” and Ricardo Sánchez had reportedly boarded a private plane back to Bogotá that, as far as anyone could tell, never landed.

Every name in Vincent’s phone, crossed off one by one.

Dante assured me Sergei had taken care of them. Retaliation for the hostilities they’d inflicted on the Bratva. He told me this over breakfast, buttering toast, the way other men discussed baseball scores.

I no longer felt like I was looking over my shoulder all the time. But I knew I’d never be completely complacent again, either. Dante had taught me that much—you never let your guard all the way down, not in this world. I was his woman now, a Marcelli in everything but paperwork, and that made me powerful and a target in equal measure. I could live with that. The morning the warehouse fire made the front page, I’d read the article twice, poured myself another coffee, and turned to the arts section.

I’d hired a new accountant, recommended by Marco, who was smoothing everything over on paper. Vincent’s name was no longer mentioned. Officially, he’d retired to the south of France. Unofficially, no one asked, because in the circles I moved in now, people had learned not to.

I should have felt guilty about how much I didn’t feel guilty.

I’d lied to the police. I’d watched the man I loved kill for me, and I’d kissed him with the blood still on his hands. I wasn’t laundering anyone’s dirty money now, but Sergei was still a very good customer, as were the Marcellis, and if the offer prices were a little inflated… well, I wasn’t going to complain about that.

The woman who’d opened this gallery would have been horrified.

But that woman had also been cautious, painfully naive, and a pawn in a game she didn’t understand. This new Evelyn ran the most respected gallery in SoHo, sat at the right hand of the most dangerous family in New York, and was afraid of exactly no one.

I’d surrendered my innocence. In exchange I’d been handed power, protection, and a love that would, quite literally, burn down a city for me.

In this world, that was the only justice there was. And I was okay with that.

The exhibition was a success, although I suspect many of the invited guests had come to get a closer look at the gallery owner who was engaged to the infamous Marcelli family.

On the fourth finger of my left hand, Dante’s diamond sparkled. He’d proposed on the roof of his penthouse, in the rain.

He’d stood in front of me, rain running down his face, his shirt soaked through and clinging to all that inked, scarred muscle, and produced a little red box.

Without warning, he’d dropped to one knee. I still got breathless thinking about it. Dante Marcelli had kneeled for me.

Inside the box was the most ridiculous, beautiful diamond I’d ever seen. But it wasn’t about that. Dante had shown me what it was like to love, and to be loved. He’d come back for me when I’d been in danger, and he’d rescued me when my life had been on the line. He’d even killed for me. No woman could ask for more than that.

On my wrist was my own slim tennis bracelet. Given and earned. His and mine. The woman I was, and the woman I’d been.

Chloe was beside herself because Mikhail was there with Alexei. This was the first time she’d seen Sergei’s nephew since before my kidnapping and subsequent rescue, and while she didn’t know the particulars of what had transpired, she knew Mikhail and Sergei had helped Dante take down the cartel and get my gallery back.

According to our sources, and Izzy’s intel, Alexei knew a lot more than he let on, and I realized the cocky grin was a guise to lure people into a false sense of security around him. I’d underestimated the young man, and while no harm had come of it, I wouldn’t be making the same mistake again.

Unfortunately, Chloe was smitten. I could see it by the spring in her step, her flirtatious gestures, and how she became completely flustered around him. It was kind of cute, but I’d be watching them closely; I didn’t want her to get hurt.

Dante stood across the room, leaning against the far wall. He didn’t talk to anyone, simply watched as I worked the room. The look on his face made my heart sing. It was a look reserved only for me. Pride, desire, and more than a little possessiveness.

I thought about what we’d just done in my office and flushed. He saw, and by the quirk of his lips, I knew he was picturing every detail too.

Nico lurked near the bar in a suit he clearly resented wearing, pretending not to be running some form of surveillance from his phone. Izzy held court by the sculpture garden in a leather dress, terrifying an eminent art critic visiting from London.

Kyle, smiling in a dinner jacket, stood near the door with his wife. Max was with him. I’d insisted we invite them, and Dante had finally agreed. His social skills still needed work, but we were getting there.

And in the corner, perfectly still amid all the motion, Valentina watched her son watch me. She caught my eye across the crowded gallery and lifted her glass a fraction of an inch.

Approval, from Valentina Marcelli, was rarer than the diamonds on my ring. I lifted mine back.

I’d come into this world a captive, a victim, certain a dangerous man was going to be the end of me. Now I was living in it a queen, on the arm of the same dangerous man, having decided he was the beginning of everything instead of the end.