Page 94 of Cage the Storm
And I wouldn’t want to rule it with anyone else.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
NICOLAI
Several months later
The meeting went exactlyhow I knew it would. Men like these need a show before they concede. I sat across from the stiff-backed bosses of La Cosa Nostra—calm, composed, and untouchable. They watched me, weighing their options, looking for an opening.
There were none. I made sure of that.
They came with demands; I gave orders. They tested me; I didn’t flinch. And when they realized I wasn’t asking for respect, I was taking it, they stopped pushing.
Somewhere between the second glass of scotch and the first lit cigar, they slid over the proof. A photo. A name. A time.
Carlo Morales was dead.
Not by my hand. I’d wanted that.
But they handled it quietly, efficiently, a gesture of goodwill, they said.
The deal was made, and hands were shaken.
Control wasn’t up for debate.
It was mine.
Ours.
As I stepped out of that room, I thought of Luna—the fire in her eyes, the certainty in her stance, the way she always knew this moment would come.
She was right.
We were untouchable now.
A knock cuts through the quiet of my office, and I already know. I think of her, and of course, she appears, like she always does, like she always will.
Luna walks in, hands pressed to the small of her back, frustration flickering across her face. She lets out a breath, eyes locking onto mine, like somehow, I can fix whatever’s bothering her. I can’t, but that doesn’t stop her from expecting it.
She’s radiant, but I’ve learned my lesson. I keep that thought to myself.
“Swear by everything holy, if this kid doesn’t hurry up—” she mutters, irritation tightening her jaw.
I stand, crossing the room, and grip her by the waist. “What, you’ll kick them out yourself?”
She lifts a brow. “Don’t tempt me.”
I slide a hand over the curve of her stomach, feeling the life we created pressing against my palm. Our child. Our future.
She rests her head against my chest, and in this moment, nothing else matters. Not the meetings, not the empire, not the ghosts of the past. Just us. I lean down, brushing my lips over hers.
“Not much longer now.”
“Not soon enough,marito.” She scoffs against my chest.
I guide her to the couch, holding her as she sinks into the cushions with a sigh. She’s carrying so much. Our child, the exhaustion, and the world we’ve built together. If I can give her even the smallest comfort, I will.
Without a word, I sit beside her and lift her feet onto my lap. My thumbs press into the swollen arch of her foot, easing her pain. She stiffens at first, but then she lets go. Her body relaxes.
