Chapter 10 - The Crown
One year to the day after Greg Thornton grabbed my arm and Damian Mercer stood up in booth seven, the Velvet Room hosted its most exclusive private event yet.
The lounge was closed to the public. Instead, the polished mahogany bar, the amber booths, and the high-end dining room were filled with the people who actually mattered—community leaders, local entrepreneurs we had backed through our real estate grants, and the core team of loyal staff who had stayed through the fire.
I stood behind the bar—not working, but holding a crystal glass of rye whiskey, wearing an emerald-green silk dress that caught the amber light of the chandeliers.
Damian stood beside me, his arm resting lightly around my waist.
Across the room, Nathan Cole raised his glass toward us in a silent toast. Marcus nodded respectfully from near the service entrance.
“You know,” Damian murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed my ear, “when I first saw you behind this bar, you looked like someone trying to survive a storm.”
I turned my head, looking up into his dark, intelligent eyes, feeling the steady, unbroken ticking of the Omega watch on my wrist.
“I wasn't surviving, Damian,” I whispered, smiling as the jazz band began to play a smooth, slow rhythm that filled the room with warmth. “I was just waiting for the right man to clear the way.”
Damian laughed—a deep, rich sound that belonged only to us—and pressed his glass against mine.
May you like
The crystal rang out clear and true across the room.
The audit was over. The debt was paid. And the empire was ours.
