The sharp, biting crack of the thin leather riding crop echoed like a gunshot through the vaulted ballroom of Sterling Manor, instantly knocking the silver serving tray from my hands.

By three in the morning, Sterling Manor was scrubbed clean of blood and brass casings. The traitorous mercenaries were disposed of, and Cassandra Vance was secured in the subterranean holding cells beneath twenty-four-hour surveillance.

I sat in the opulent master suite on the second floor, wrapped in an oversized plush velvet robe that belonged to Dominic. A private syndicate doctor had cleaned the lash marks on my shoulder and collarbone, applying a soothing salve before wrapping the wounds in sterile bandages.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door.

"Enter," I said.

Dominic stepped inside. He had changed into a crisp charcoal shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A sling supported his injured left arm, but his posture was as commanding as ever.

Behind him, two women entered pushing rolling wardrobe racks laden with evening gowns, furs, and diamond-encrusted jewelry.

"What is this?" I asked, looking from the dresses to Dominic.

"At eight o'clock tonight, the heads of the Five Families are gathering at the Harborview Pavilion for the annual Winter Equinox Summit," Dominic explained, leaning against the doorframe. "Senator Vance called a mandatory vote of no-confidence against me two hours ago. He claims I assaulted his daughter and broke syndicate law."

"He's trying to consolidate power before you can expose him," I realized.

"Exactly. He thinks Cassandra successfully eliminated you, and he thinks I am politically isolated." Dominic’s lips curved into a dangerous, predatory smile. "He expects me to arrive alone, begging for mercy from the council."

"And instead?"

"Instead, I am walking into that hall with the rightful heir to the Moretti territories." Dominic walked over to the rolling rack and pulled out an breathtaking gown.

It was crafted from heavy, emerald-green velvet, cut with an off-the-shoulder neckline, a corseted bodice designed to accentuate voluptuous, regal curves, and a sweeping train lined with black silk. It was not a dress made to hide a woman; it was an armor built for a queen.

"I had my designers fly this in from New York by private jet an hour ago," Dominic said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, magnetic tone that made my breath hitch. "Cassandra called you a servant. She tried to make you feel invisible because your body didn't fit into the fragile, starved molds of high society."

He stepped closer, holding the emerald velvet up against me, his gray eyes burning with genuine, unbridled reverence.

"You have the curves of an empress, Elena. You have the strength of a warrior. Tonight, you are going to wear your father’s crest, and you are going to walk into that room and make them bow."

A knot in my throat tightened. For ten years, I had shrunk myself—slouching in oversized flannel shirts, scrubbing toilets, hiding my face beneath greasy bangs, believing that survival required total erasure of who I was.

I looked into the mirror across the room. Beneath the bruises and the exhaustion, my dark eyes blazed with the same unyielding fire that had once commanded an army of men in Chicago.

"I will wear it," I said, looking back at Dominic. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"I don't just want Vance stripped of his rank," I said, my voice hardening into steel. "I want the ledger. The original execution order signed by the families who funded the fire in Lake Forest."