Page 103 of Queen
The courtyard is still burning when I hit the marble steps, Zina and Guido in the center of it all, their silhouettes cut against smoke and blood. Soldiers drag the wounded. Flames crawl the walls like veins bursting open. But my eyes are only for them.
Zina’s arms are locked around our boy, her dress shredded, streaked with dirt and blood. Guido clings to her with tiny fists, silent now, his shock carved too deep for sound. His face is pressed against her chest, but I see the smear of red across his cheek and it almost kills me.
I stagger closer, the rage in my chest heavy as iron. Santino’s laughter still echoes in my skull. My brother. Giovanni’s heir. Myenemy. His words coil through the smoke:She’ll never love you. She’ll always be his.
Zina lifts her head, her eyes finding mine through the chaos. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t see fire in them. I see accusation. Pain. Fury that cuts sharper than any blade.
“They came for him,” she hisses, her voice cracking under the weight of it. “They came forour sonbecause of this crown.”
I stop, chest heaving, blood dripping from my busted knuckles. “They came because Santino opened the fucking gates.”
Her eyes flash. “Does it matter? The crown paints the target, Emiliano. Every time you defend it, it costs Guido another breath.”
The truth slams into me harder than any bullet. Around us, men shout, the war still boiling, but the battlefield fades to nothing. It’s just her. Me. The boy between us, trembling like glass.
I want to roar, to tell her she’s wrong, that the throne is the only shield we have left. But when I look at Guido, pale and shaking in her arms, I choke on the words.
The kingdom. The crown. The empire Giovanni built, the empire I bled to keep alive—none of it weighs a fraction against that boy’s life.
And Zina knows it. She sees it written on my face. Her grip on Guido tightens. “So choose.” Her voice is raw, merciless. “Crown or family. Empire or blood.”
The soldiers are still fighting. My men are waiting for orders. If I speak now, I seal our fate forever.
I look at her—my Queen, my ruin, my salvation—and the choice is already made.
I stride forward, tearing the blood-slick signet from my finger, the last emblem of Giovanni’s throne. I fling it into thefire at our feet. The flames swallow it whole, jewels cracking, gold melting into ash.
The courtyard goes silent, the men frozen, watching their king burn his own crown.
I cup Zina’s jaw with a bloodied hand, my thumb brushing the tears she refuses to shed. My voice is a whisper, a vow that will outlive this night. “You. Him. That’s the only kingdom that matters.”
Her breath stutters, but her eyes—God, her eyes blaze like the first time I saw her.
And behind us, Santino drags himself out of the rubble, broken but alive, his face twisted with hatred as he witnesses what I’ve done.
Not the death of my rule. The birth of something he’ll never control.
The Last Betrayal: Brother Against Brother
The flames spit sparks into the night, swallowing the crown I hurled into their heart. The courtyard stinks of smoke and blood, silence falling in jagged pieces. My men stare like they’ve just witnessed the sky collapse.
Then the silence breaks.
A cough. Wet. Ragged. From the rubble of the balcony.
Santino drags himself upright, face half-shadowed in firelight, blood running down his temple. His shirt is torn, one arm limp, but his grin—that venomous fucking grin—cuts sharper than any blade.
“You think this is your victory?” His voice rasps, broken but strong enough to reach every ear in the yard. “You chose her. You chose the boy. You think that makes you a king?” He spits blood into the dirt. “It makes you weak.”
Zina shifts Guido behind her, her body instinctively shielding him, though her eyes stay locked on Santino. Fury burns in her stare, but I feel the tremor in Guido’s small hand clutching at my trousers.
I step forward, boots grinding over shattered glass. My chest heaves, rage thick enough to drown in. “Weak? No, fratello. Weak is hiding behind Giovanni’s ghost. Weak is selling your soul to cowards who can’t take me themselves.”
Santino laughs, the sound ragged and mad. “You think the De Lucas were the only ones? You think this war ends with tonight? You’ve already lost.” His eyes flick, deliberate, toward Guido. “He’s the prize. Not you. Not her. The boy.”
Zina’s gasp is sharp as a blade unsheathed. Guido clings tighter, burying his face against her side.
I bare my teeth, my vision tunneling red. “Say his name again and I’ll rip your fucking tongue out.”
