His brain and blood splattered all over the painting of Isabella. It was as if I’d waited until the right moment so I could ruin the painting and rid myself of this problem in a single shot.
That would’ve made me a wicked woman indeed.
I should’ve known my wedding day would end with me covered in blood.
My white, lace, ten-thousand-dollar dress drenched in the blood of the man I’d just killed.
The cop I’d just killed.
Greg Harris had not wanted me dead, but he was prepared to let me die if it meant getting Cristian. If it meant he finally won.
This was not a story with a clear-cut hero and a villain. The man who the home audience would’ve been rooting for was just as much of a monster as my husband.
Cristian burst into the room, gun drawn, Felix at his heels.
“Don’t worry, I took care of it,” I stated evenly.
Both Cristian and Felix looked from Harris’s body to the gun in my hand.
Cristian stared at me for a long moment before he nodded to Felix, dismissing him. He moved toward me, stepping over the body without blinking. He was used to death, I was sure.
“I called him,” I explained, looking down at his body. I felt nothing. I should’ve. Should’ve felt sick. My hands should’ve been shaking or some such thing. But I had no regret for what I’d done.
“The day after I got here,” I continued. “When I was consumed with hatred. When I thought destroying you would be my salvation.” I paused, running my eyes over Cristian’s face. “I looked for things to ruin you,” I whispered. “I never gave him anything. I think I was playing a part. That I was supposed to fight against you, because you were the villain. But that lie didn’t last for long. I didn’t give him anything. That’s why he was so angry. Because I wouldn’t destroy you. Because I realized something.” My eyes roved over Cristian, his high cheekbones, his strong brow, chocolate eyes. “It was in my damnation with you that I found solace.”
I was trembling now, ever so slightly. Not because I’d just killed a man, but because I’d admitted my betrayal to the man I loved.
“I knew,” Cristian murmured, never taking his eyes off mine.
I stared at him. “Of course, you did. Yet you didn’t kill me for betraying you.”
“I admire you for your bravery and ruthlessness.” He wiped blood from my face.
My mind raced. He’d known. The entire time. Every touch. Every look. Every moment.
I’d tortured myself while he’d watched me, knowing he could take me out of my misery at any moment, save me from it. But this was not the kind of man who would save me. He was not my hero.
Was I surprised?
He’d known that Greg Harris would die in the end, I suspected. But he likely planned on doing it himself.
“You’re my husband,” I whispered, staring down at the body before looking up to Cristian. The title settled on my skin like silk.
“And you are my wife.” Pride filled his voice. “My queen.” His lips covered mine, and I returned his kiss, with a dead man mere feet away.
“I’m going to put a baby in you,” he mumbled against my lips.
I pulled back from his embrace to gape at my husband. He was serious. With a corpse at our feet.
“You want me to bring a child into this world?” I gestured with the gun still in my hand.
“Yes.” His voice was even, his espresso eyes never leaving mine.
Fury bloomed at his placid and sparse response to my question.
Cristian saw my irritation because I was not trying to hide it.
“You want to bring a child into this world too,” he said.
I scowled at him. “In a world of murder, violence and treachery?”
He nodded once. “Yes, in a world of murder, violence and treachery. It is not just this world, this family, where those things exist. We just don’t pretend otherwise. Our child will not grow up as a victim. Or in poverty. Our child will grow to be ruthless. To be feared. To rule.” He stepped forward to cup my jaw. “And although you are trying to tell yourself that you want a child who’s cherished, loved, safe in the false world you were trying to fit yourself into, you know that’s wrong. A child with your blood would not want that. You do not want that. You want a ruler. A warrior.”
I stared at him. “Then give me a ruler,” I whispered.
He didn’t hesitate.
He did it right there on the desk, Greg’s empty eyes watching us the entire time.
Six Weeks Later
The weeks passed quickly and without fanfare. Cristian had had Greg Harris taken care of.
Edoardo’s son and Vincentius’s niece were wed. The wedding was grand, opulent, and it was clear that the groom and bride hated each other.