Chapter 10 - The Queen of the City
The hours passed like slow-pouring lead.
Camille did not wait in the inner house. She sat in Valentin’s study, staring at the clock on the mantle as the hands ticked past three in the morning, then four, then five.
The estate was silent, but outside, rain had begun to fall—a steady, cold downpour that rattled against the glass windows like tiny iron beads.
At five-thirty in the morning, the sound of heavy tires crunched against the gravel outside.
Camille sprang from her chair and ran down the grand staircase, her heart hammering against her ribs so violently she could barely breathe.
The double mahogany front doors swung open.
Valentin walked into the foyer. His coat was damp with rain, and there was a smear of dark blood along his left cuff, but he walked tall, proud, and completely uninjured. Behind him stepped two of his senior lieutenants, carrying a heavy iron box and a thick stack of legal folders.
Valentin stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at her.
"It's over," he said quietly.
Camille ran down the remaining steps and threw her arms around his waist, burying her face into his wet wool coat. Valentin wrapped his long arms around her instantly, pulling her tight against his body, resting his chin on top of her head.
"Are you hurt?" she sobbed softly into his chest.
"Not my blood," Valentin murmured, his fingers gentle as they strode through her hair. "Dante has been removed from the council permanently. The Chicago Outfit has signed a peace treaty, surrendering all claims to our city."
"And Trevor?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.
Valentin’s expression darkened slightly. "Trevor tried to bargain with his Chicago baby-mother's father. It didn't work. They took him back to Chicago to face their own justice for his debts and his lies. He will never return to this state. He will never bother you again."
Camille took a long, shaky breath, feeling the last lingering ghost of her past finally dissolve into the cool morning air. Trevor was gone. The lies were finished.
She looked up into Valentin’s sharp, handsome face—the face of the man who had dragged her from the ruins of her broken wedding day and given her a throne instead.
"Our year contract," Camille whispered, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched his grey eyes. "What happens to our deal now?"
Valentin stared at her, his hands resting on her waist, his thumbs gently rubbing circles against her silk robe. For the first time since she had met him, Valentin Moretti looked vulnerable.
"The contract was a lie, Camille," Valentin confessed quietly, his voice dropping into a tender, raw honesty. "I didn't need a wife for the board. I owned the board long before I met you."
Camille gasped softly. "What?"
"I saw you three months ago at your father's legal firm," Valentin said, his fingers tightening gently around her waist. "You were sitting in the lobby, reading a book, entirely unbothered by the powerful men rushing past you. I asked my men to look into you. When I found out you were engaged to a pathetic worm like Trevor who was stealing from my casinos, I watched. When he ran, I used his debt as an excuse to bring you here."
"You brought me here on purpose?"
"I brought you here because I couldn't let you marry him," Valentin whispered, stepping closer until there was no space left between them. "I brought you here because I wanted to give you everything he took from you. Protection. Respect. Loyalty." He reached up, cupping her face in his warm hands. "I fell in love with you before you ever set foot in this house, Camille. If you want to leave now that Trevor is gone... I will let you go. I will give you the two million dollars and your freedom."
Camille looked at the massive, grand foyer, then at the ring on her finger, and finally into the deep, passionate grey eyes of the mob king who had built an empire just to keep her safe.
She reached up, wrapping her fingers around his wrists, a tear of pure happiness spilling over her lashes.
"I don't want your two million dollars, Valentin," she whispered, her voice filled with absolute certainty. "And I don't want my freedom."
Valentin’s breath hitched. "Camille..."
"I want my husband," she said firmly. "I want the man who protected me when the whole world was laughing. I want to stay right here, at your side, as your wife."
Valentin let out a rough, breathless laugh, pulling her up into his arms and capturing her lips in a fierce, joyous kiss that echoed through the grand marble halls of the estate.
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The ghost of the wedding dress in her old closet was gone forever.
Camille Hunt was no longer a runaway bride. She was the Queen of the Moretti empire—and she was home.
