Page 26 of Queen
The fire glows low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room. I curl into the armchair nearest it, a book open in my lap that I’m not reading. The words blur into shapes, my mind too loud, circling the same questions until they fray at the edges.
The door opens without a knock.
Of course it’s him.
Emiliano strides in like he owns the air I’m breathing, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a small black velvet box. He doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t ask permission. He just crosses the carpet with that silent, deliberate pace and sets the box on the low table between us, like an offering, or maybe a weapon.
“You should have this,” he says. His voice is steady, low, more dangerous for how calm it is.
The fire pops, gold light breaking across the edges of his face. My gaze drops to the box, but I don’t touch it.
“What is it?” I ask, even though the answer is already vibrating in my chest.
“Open it.”
Every instinct tells me to refuse, to leave the box sealed like Pandora’s curse. But curiosity—damn my weakness—wins. I lift the lid.
The breath leaves me in a sharp, involuntary sound.
It’s Giovanni’s wedding ring.
Only… not. The gold has been reshaped, resized for a smaller hand. The diamond is gone, replaced with a blood-red ruby that gleams in the firelight—rich, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
Fury and grief crash through me in equal measure. My chest tightens until I can barely breathe.
“You—” My voice shakes, but not from fear. “You defile his memory.”
Emiliano doesn’t flinch. His eyes don’t even soften. “No,” he says, low and certain. “I reclaim it.”
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t wait. His hand closes around mine—warm, unyielding—and before I can pull away, he slides the ring onto my finger.
It fits.
Too perfectly.
His gaze locks with mine as he does it, holding me in that molten stare until I forget how to move. There’s no triumph there. No mockery. Just possession, absolute and unapologetic.
“You’ll wear it tomorrow,” he says, his thumb brushing once over my knuckles before he lets go. “In front of the Five Families.”
I look down at the ruby burning against my skin. My first instinct is to rip it off, throw it back in his face. But I don’t. Not yet.
The weight of it anchors me to the chair, heavy with meaning. A symbol. A claim. Maybe even a weapon—if I choose to make it one.
He leaves without another word, the click of the door closing echoing like a gavel.
I stare at the ring in the firelight, the ruby bleeding red across my hand, and wonder if I’m the one being remade.
Poison or Power
I don’t sleep.
The fire’s gone out, but the ring still burns against my skin, heavier than gold should ever feel. I sit propped against the headboard, lamp casting a soft amber glow across the room. In its light, the ruby looks darker—like blood trapped under glass.
If I’m to wear a crown, I’ll make it draw blood.
I turn my hand slowly, studying it. The metal is smooth, polished, deceptively soft. But I know better. Gold bends. And under the right force, it cuts deep.
Giovanni’s ghost lingers in the back of my mind. Would he laugh to see me wearing this? Or rage from the grave? I can’t decide which answer would hurt more.
