Page 160 of Brutal Crown
The grand ballroom glows golden under a hundred crystal chandeliers, soft music pulsing through the air. Laughter and clinking glasses fill the room, the scent of fresh flowers and roasted meats wafting from the long banquet tables. The scene before me feels like something straight out of a dream or fictional story, the kind of stories my mother used to tell when we were younger.
The founding families, all gathered in peace and harmony.
The families have lived through years upon years of silent wars. Several feasts have been hosted, but with knives hidden beneath linens and false smiles on everyone’s faces.
But tonight, it feels different. The war has passed. Peace, real peace, hovers in the air like a breath of fresh air.
Lia stands at my side, looking radiant as usual in a deep emerald gown that clings to her new curves. Her belly is rounded now, her body beginning to show the quiet miracle we’ve made. She presses a hand to it absentmindedly as she walks over to greet an older woman from the Vescovi family. Her laughter pierces the air around me, making my chest clench with emotion.
I can’t stop looking at her.
“Your eyes are going to burn a hole through her if you keep staring,” Elio murmurs as he walks past me with a glass of champagne in his hands.
“I’m the one who’ll burn if I don’t look at her,” I say simply.
He shakes his head at me and murmurs something about me being infatuated, but there’s a faint smile on his lips.
Everyone in the family has grown to like Lia—not like it was difficult. She has a way of capturing people’s hearts, including cold-hearted people like Elio.
I walk over to greet some of the guests, and my smile becomes even wider when they first ask for my wife before anything else.
At some point, I’m forced to drag Lia away from her long conversation with the young Vescovi wife.
“Everyone’s asking for you,” I murmur, slipping a hand over her waist.
“Is that your excuse? Or you just can’t spend ten seconds without me?” she teases.
“The latter. Definitely.”
She laughs, rolling her eyes, but her hand slides into mine and stays there. She doesn’t leave my side either for the rest of the night.
Around us, laughter hums like music. Glasses clink. Plates are passed over the table. For the first time in generations, the founding families aren’t fighting or pretending like they’re not fighting.
New allies are also present at the feast. I have partnered with men and women from smaller mafia families, dignitaries from far across Europe, and even a few powerful neutral families who’ve chosen to side with us. All of them stand with the Romano family, and by that, stand with La Mano Nera.
We’re building something stronger now. Not a kingdom that thrives in fear and oppression, but one of power and protection.
Lia takes a bathroom break after the first course, and I go with her. I’ve been paranoid about leaving her alone lately, especially since she wobbles slightly when she walks and can’t really see her feet when she stands. I’m scared that she might slip and fall, bump into something her eyes missed, or trip and hurt herself. So I’ve insisted on following her everywhere, as long as it’s out of my sight. She says I’m being dramatic, but she’s never told me to stop.
When we return to the banquet hall from one of the small corridors, we see the main doors opening.
Silvia walks in, dazzling in a silk, wine-red dress that hugs her figure. Her dark hair is twisted into a sleek knot at the base of her neck, and her lips are painted the color of wine.
She’s late, which is unusual for her.
And of course, behind her is Antonio.
As usual, he’s in a black tailored suit, walking just a step behind her like a shadow that can’t stay away.
They both cross the room slowly, guests turning to look at them.
The expression on her face is unreadable, practiced, but her eyes soften the moment she spots me.
Or rather, when she spots Lia beside me.
“You look beautiful,” she says, walking over to us and embracing Lia briefly. They’ve grown a bit closer over the past couple of weeks.
Her eyes drop to Lia’s stomach. “You’re the most beautiful pregnant woman I know.”
