Chapter 9 - Rebuilding the Foundation
Two weeks had passed since the night at Arthur’s estate.
Bell Haven was quiet—the kind of quiet that only comes when a new king secures his throne with absolute, unquestioned authority. The municipal harbor properties, long the subject of bitter legal disputes and corporate bloodshed, were officially unified under a new joint corporate entity: Duca-Valente Holdings.
My little bridal shop on Elm Street hadn’t been boarded up after all. Instead, Roman had quietly bought the entire commercial block, completely renovated the building, and turned it into the premier high-end couture fashion house on the Massachusetts coast.
My mother, Eleanor, had finally returned to her house, but the heavy shadow of fear that had haunted her for twenty years was gone. The coffee stain on the kitchen counter was still there, and she finally decided to leave it alone.
And then there was Duca House.
The East Wing, heavily damaged by the wedding night fire, had been completely rebuilt of reinforced stone and glass. The secret tunnels had been sealed permanently, replaced by modern biometric security systems.
I stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror in the newly renovated master suite, smoothing down the front of a custom-tailored emerald silk dress I had designed myself.
The door opened softly behind me, and Roman stepped into the room. He had discarded his usual heavy suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, powerful muscles beneath.
He walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin comfortably on my shoulder. In the mirror, I saw the stark contrast between us—him, the hardened syndicate boss who commanded the Eastern Seaboard; me, the plain girl from the wrong side of town who turned out to be the rightful heir to an empire.
“Your mother called,” Roman murmured, his breath warm against my neck. “She wants to know if we’re coming over for Sunday roast.”
“Only if she promises not to bring up my childhood,” I smiled, resting my hands over his.
Roman turned me slowly in his arms, his dark eyes filled with a quiet, fierce devotion that nobody else in Bell Haven would ever get to see.
“You know,” he said softly, a rare, faint smirk touching the corners of his lips, “that rich guy who bet five hundred dollars on our divorce before Christmas?”
“What about him?”
“His shipping company just filed for bankruptcy. I bought his primary assets this morning for a dollar.”
May you like
I laughed, leaning my forehead against his chest. “You are a ruthless, terrifying monster, Roman Duca.”
“And you,” he whispered, his arms tightening around me as he kissed the top of my head, “are the best thing that ever happened to my empire.”
