Page 154 of Brutal Crown
I huff a dry laugh.
He joins me by the window, his reflection catching in the glass beside mine. We stand in silence for a moment, watching everything we’ve bled for.
With arms crossed over his chest as he looks out at the view. “Feels different, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “It does.”
He studies me, something unreadable behind his eyes. “You did what I couldn’t. You freed us.”
I frown. “Freed us from what?”
“From fear,” he says. “From the belief that the Elders were untouchable. That their corruption was just something we had to live with.” His voice sharpens. “You made them bleed, in front of everyone. You cracked something that can’t be sealed again.”
“In the beginning, all I wanted was to keep Lia and our child safe. But then… I couldn’t ignore the rot staring me in the face.”
“And you got that. You stood on the altar and exposed centuries of deceit. That changes everything.”
I’m quiet for a moment, then ask, “What about your plan? All those years… all those people inside the Council. Was it all just to support me? There is no way you could’ve known I would go down this path. You had to have been quietly instigating something like this for so long. Waiting for the right opportunity.”
A flicker of a smile ghosts his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You were always part of it. But not the only part. I’ve spent years planting seeds. Quietly. Patiently. You gave them sunlight.”
“So it’s not over?”
“Not even close,” Dante says. “The Reckoning was public. Loud. But the real change will come quietly—through signatures, policies, disappearances. The resistance is in place now, strongly embedded. I am gaining more people on our side now. We won’t need to burn the whole structure down… not if we control it from the inside.”
I nod slowly. “I thought we were done.”
“We’ve just begun.” He turns to face me fully now. “You lit the match, Francesco. But I’m the one who’s been building the fire. I just wish I hadn’t had to burn through so much of myself to get here.” His voice is quieter now. Rougher. And I know who he means—Lia’s father.
I don’t say anything at first. Because what’s there to say? It’s done. It’s the kind of thing you don’t come back from.
“You could’ve done it earlier,” I tell him.
He lets out a hollow laugh. “Maybe. But I was afraid. After your mother… after Lorenzo—I was done burying people I love. Power seemed safer than grief.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t look at me. But when he finally does, I see it: not just regret but pride. Real, unflinching pride.
“But you… You let love be your driving force. You had the guts to burn the world and build it again. You took care of us, and you did it without losing yourself.”
I shake my head. “I did lose myself. I lost myself a long time ago. She just helped me find the pieces.”
He doesn’t need to ask whosheis.
“And this is just the beginning.”
I nod slowly. “It is.”
He offers a rare, genuine smile. “Let’s make sure it’s a good one.”
The dining hallis unrecognizable by midday.
Long tables stretch end to end, dressed in white linens and decorated with wildflowers. Bottles of wine stand between platters of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and fruits glistening with syrup. Laughter rises like music in the air, echoing off the high ceilings and spilling out into the gardens beyond.
It’s not just a feast. It’s a celebration. A rebirth.
The Morettis and Romanos mingle, not out of political alliance or obligation, but as friends, just how it used to be many years ago.
It feels strange. Beautiful.
