Chapter 11 - THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT
The heavy silence in the study was palpable, thick enough to choke on.
Don Carmine stared at the tiny microdot resting between Grace’s thumb and forefinger. The old boss had spent fifty years building a reputation of invulnerability, manipulating families and orchestrating assassinations with a wave of his cane.
Now, he was being outmaneuvered by a girl who hadn’t even been born when he took power.
“You are bluffing,” Carmine sneered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his panic. “You wouldn’t go to the Feds. You’d destroy Dante in the process.”
Grace didn’t blink.
“Dante’s accounts are clean,” she replied smoothly. “My mother made sure of it before Silvio killed her. The only blood on this microdot belongs to you and Silvio. And I have nothing to lose.”
She took one step closer to the ruthless Mafia Boss.
“Do we have a deal, Carmine? Or should I make a phone call?”
Carmine’s jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if his teeth might shatter. He looked at Dante, who was watching Grace with an expression of pure, unadulterated awe.
“You found a viper, Dante,” Carmine spat, his face flushing dark red. “Keep her on a leash, or she’ll bite you too.”
“She doesn’t need a leash,” Dante said, stepping up beside Grace and resting a protective hand on the small of her back. “She needs a crown. Get out of my house, Carmine. And consider the alliance rejected.”
Carmine slammed his silver cane against the floor. Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the study, his niece Valentina following closely behind, looking back at Grace with a mix of fury and begrudging respect.
The heavy doors clicked shut.
The moment they were alone, Grace’s knees buckled.
The adrenaline abruptly vanished, leaving her breathless and trembling. She stumbled forward, but Dante caught her instantly, pulling her flush against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” Dante murmured, holding her tight.
Grace buried her face in his shirt, taking deep, shuddering breaths. “Did he b-believe me?”
Dante chuckled, a deep, rich sound that rumbled in his chest. “He practically ran out the door. He’s probably calling the Commission right now to declare a truce.”
Dante gently pulled her back, looking down at the tiny microdot in her hand.
“Grace,” he said softly, his eyes full of wonder. “How did you know how to switch the dot so fast?”
Grace looked down at the tiny black square in her palm.
A small, mischievous smile touched her lips.
“I didn’t,” Grace confessed.
Dante frowned in confusion.
Grace reached up and wiped the tiny black square on her thumb. It smeared, leaving a dark smudge on her skin.
“It’s not a microdot,” Grace whispered, looking up at him. “It’s a piece of burnt ash from the fireplace. The real microdot melted exactly like you thought it did.”
Dante stared at the smudge of ash on her thumb.
Then, he threw his head back and laughed.
It wasn’t a polite chuckle. It was a loud, booming, joyous laugh that echoed off the damaged walls of the study. He laughed until tears pricked his eyes, entirely captivated by the sheer brilliance of the woman standing in front of him.
He picked her up by the waist, spinning her around once before setting her back down, his hands resting on her hips.
“You bluffed the oldest, most dangerous Commission Boss in the country with a piece of dirt,” Dante said, shaking his head in absolute disbelief. “You are the most terrifying woman I have ever met.”
“I learned from watching you,” Grace smiled, her eyes shining.
Dante’s smile faded into an expression of profound, overwhelming love.
He leaned down, pressing his lips against hers, kissing her with a desperate, consuming passion. Grace wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, melting into the embrace. The trauma of the night, the ghosts of her past, and the fear of the future all dissolved in the warmth of his touch.
When they finally broke apart, resting their foreheads together, the study door slowly creaked open.
They both turned.
Lucy stood in the doorway, wearing her pink pajamas, clutching a stuffed bear. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, looking from Dante to Grace, and then down at the blue leather adoption papers resting on the mahogany desk.
“Grace?” Lucy mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “Are you leaving?”
May you like
Grace let go of Dante and walked slowly across the room. She knelt in front of the little girl, taking the small, warm hands in her own.
“No, sweetheart,” Grace said softly, her voice steady and clear, without a hint of a stutter. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. Forever.”
