Too Late: The Don's Queen Is Not Me

ian

casting it to the grimy floor of the speakeasy before

ator to my penthouse was perfo

parted, she shoved me

he demanded I cease

could not simply wait, why I insisted

low: she kept me hidden not for my safety, but becau

a knot of revulsion

athroom, where I gripped the cold marble ed

m, Serena shouted t

the heavy thud of the

ace, letting the shock of it wash

ried up a floorboard and pul

r phones, untraceable hotel keys, and hidden me

the incinerator chute, my resolve

the met

, of three-a.m. meetings-I watched them curl and blacken

thorized the family elders to publicly ann

g eyes seemed to look straight through the screen-a gaze I dimly recalled from a blood

e profound, intoxicating respect of a rela

ht, my encrypted phon

r flashed on t

by the thumping bass and

rty, and I could clearly hear Leo'

heavily i

s into a microphone durin

assembly that her greatest reg

ed she had in fact purchased a go

ting Leo's name, the mu

screen, the cold glass a stark contrast to

crypted my device and blocked her number from

ivate network came alive with a high

oastal estate, exuding an aura

while Elena Romano stood beside

na woke up in he

ing phone, only to fin

network and went rigid as she s

stupor; the woman on the other end pleaded with Ser

he was heading straight

the most expensive white designer evening gown she ow

gold signet ring

oast, the shriek of her tires a d

e, her phone

er, screaming i

on were already sta

ates were