Chapter 4 – The Don Meets the Queen

Amara's POV

Five years later

The chandeliers above glittered like captured stars, their light scattering across the room in soft golden shards. Laughter spilled through the ballroom, warm and practiced, the kind of laughter that belonged to people who hid knives beneath their silk.

The Romano annual gala wasn’t just a party. It was a stage. And tonight, I wasn’t a guest.

I was the performance.

The heels on my feet clicked against the marble floor with steady rhythm, my black silk dress gliding around me like smoke. My hair was pinned up, exposing the sharp lines of my jaw—the same face Dante Moretti used to touch with careless fingers. I wasn’t that girl anymore. The one who had looked at him like he was the sun.

Now, I was the storm that followed after.

“Breathe,” Sofia murmured from behind me, her sharp eyes sweeping the room as she handed me a champagne flute. “Your game face is perfect, but your fingers are too tight.”

I forced my hand to relax. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” she said. “And I like it. He won’t know what hit him.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “Good.”

I turned my gaze across the ballroom, where men in expensive suits and women in shimmering dresses danced through

conversations like predators circling prey. I didn’t have to see him to feel it.

Dante Moretti’s presence was the kind that made rooms tilt around him. It wrapped like smoke, thick and demanding. And even after five years, even after every scar he carved into me healed into something stronger, my pulse still knew how to react.

A small hand tugged at mine.

“Mama,” Alessio whispered, his voice soft, curious. His little tuxedo was slightly crooked, his bow tie a little off. Five years old and already far too used to being surrounded by whispers he didn’t understand.

“Yes, baby?” I crouched down, adjusting his tie gently, forcing myself to focus on the only thing that ever mattered more than revenge.

“Why’s everyone looking at us?”

I glanced up. They weren’t looking at us—they were looking at him. At Alessio. At the boy who carried bloodlines that could ignite a war. But he didn’t know that. Not yet.

“Because you look handsome,” I whispered, brushing his hair back. “And because they’ve never seen anyone as special as you.”

He grinned, small and proud, and leaned into me. My heart softened in ways it only did for him. For five years, I’d built my strength around the walls of my heart. Alessio was the only one who lived inside them.

And then, like a shift in the air, I felt him.

Before I even saw him.

I straightened slowly, fingers tightening around my champagne flute again. My pulse was steady. Controlled. I’d practiced this in the mirror more times than I’d admit.

Dante Moretti stood on the far side of the ballroom, surrounded by his men, every inch of him sculpted to perfection in a dark tailored suit. Same gray eyes. Same dangerous stillness. Same man who had once looked at me like I was nothing.

But his gaze now… burned like he’d just found a ghost.

Sofia leaned closer. “Showtime.”

Luca arrived right on cue. His hand rested at the small of my back as he approached—steady, warm, and deliberate. His presence was the opposite of Dante’s storm. Quiet power. Unshakable. When he leaned down and pressed a kiss against my cheek, the entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath.

Especially Dante.

“Amara,” Luca murmured against my skin, low enough for only me to hear. “You look like war tonight.”

“Good,” I said softly. “He deserves nothing less.”

Luca’s lips twitched in satisfaction. “Then let’s make sure he chokes on

it.”

When I turned, I met Dante’s eyes across the ballroom. It wasn’t the first time we’d looked at each other. But it was the first time I’d looked back and not flinched. Not folded.

Five years ago, I’d been the fragile girl holding his name like a prayer. Now, I was the queen holding his ruin.

He moved first. Of course he did.

Dante never waited for anything. The crowd shifted as he cut through it, people instinctively stepping aside. He approached with the same lethal grace I used to love, the same arrogance that had once broken me.

His gaze flicked from my face to the child holding my hand.

Alessio.

And something in his perfectly controlled expression cracked—just a flicker, a shadow across his eyes, but I saw it. I always saw him.

“Amara,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue like a memory he shouldn’t still taste. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” I replied smoothly.

His jaw tightened. Luca stayed at my back, casual but deliberate, his hand resting lightly against me like a claim—not over me, but beside me. It was calculated. Luca didn’t do anything without reason.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Dante said, his voice lower now, meant for me alone. “This isn’t your side of the city.”

I tilted my head slightly. “I have sides now?”

“You used to,” he said. His eyes lingered on me like they were trying to memorize what changed. “You were North Side.”

I smiled slowly, something sharp hidden beneath it. “That girl doesn’t exist anymore.”

He glanced at Luca, at the hand resting against me, then at Alessio. His control slipped just enough for me to see the flash of something darker. Possession. Rage. Regret.

“What’s this?” Dante asked, his voice silk over a blade. “A new family?”

Luca’s voice slid in like smoke. “It’s not new. Just not yours.”

Dante’s head snapped slightly toward him, but his gaze never left me. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yes,” I said. “And unlike you, I don’t throw away what’s mine.”

That hit him. I saw it in the way his throat worked, the way his shoulders stiffened. For a second, just a second, I saw the man who once looked at me like I was his favorite sin. But I wasn’t here to look for ghosts.

Alessio tugged my hand again, confused by the tension. I crouched down slightly, keeping my voice gentle for him. “Baby, remember what Mama said about grown-ups at parties?”

He nodded solemnly. “They talk too much.”

I smiled. “Exactly.”

Luca chuckled quietly behind me, the sound deliberately easy. He was enjoying this. Not because of jealousy—because he loved watching Dante unravel.

When I stood again, Dante’s eyes were fixed on the boy. His boy. Alessio didn’t look like me. He had Dante’s dark hair, Dante’s eyes, though they sparkled with a softness Dante never had. It was like watching history catch up with him in real time. And it burned him alive.

“Who is he?” Dante asked quietly.

I met his gaze without blinking. “My son.”

His jaw flexed. “Your son.”

“Is there a problem with that?”

Something dangerous flickered through his expression. “No problem. Just… surprising.”

Luca slipped his arm around my waist. He didn’t have to say anything; the gesture said enough.

The whole ballroom saw it. More importantly, Dante saw it.

And he hated it.

“You look good, Amara,” Dante said finally, his tone almost too smooth. “Stronger.”

I smiled, but it wasn’t warm. “I had to be.”

The silence between us stretched. But it wasn’t the silence of strangers. It was the silence of a wound that had never truly healed.

Sofia appeared beside me like a shadow, a silent shield. “Amara,” she said lightly, “the council’s waiting. We should probably not keep them bored.”

“Of course,” I said, not looking away from Dante. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

As I turned, Dante’s voice cut through the noise. “Amara.”

I stopped. Slowly. Because I wanted him to feel how deliberate it was when I looked back.

His eyes were darker now, stormier. “Who is his father?”

The question landed like a blade. The whole room didn’t hear it, but Luca did. Sofia did. And I did.

I stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the soft trace of jasmine on my skin, the same scent that used to make him lose control.

“He’s mine,” I said softly. “That’s all you need to know.”

Then I walked away.

Luca followed, his hand finding the small of my back again, steady and grounding. But I didn’t need grounding. Not anymore. The ground was mine.

Behind me, I didn’t have to turn around to feel the rage radiating off Dante. It was like heat on my skin, pulling at every thread that had once tied me to him.

But those threads were ash now.

---

The night went on in a blur of murmured deals and measured glances. The council meeting was routine, just more pieces of the puzzle Luca built every day against the Moretti empire. But no matter how sharp my smile was, no matter how precise my steps, I could feel Dante’s eyes. Watching. Hunting.

I’d imagined this moment a thousand times. How it would feel to see him again. I thought it would hurt. I thought it would break something in me.

Instead, it felt like power.

---

Later that night, when most of the guests were drunk on champagne and power, I stood on the balcony overlooking the city. Alessio had fallen asleep hours ago, safe with Sofia’s people. The air was crisp, the city glittering below like a promise. Or a threat.

Luca joined me, hands in his pockets. “He didn’t take it well.”

“No,” I said, my voice steady. “He didn’t.”

He leaned against the railing beside me, his gaze tracking mine. “He’s going to come for you.”

“I know.”

Luca’s tone was soft, but not pitying. “And you’re not afraid.”

“No,” I said again. “Because this time, I’m ready.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”

Silence stretched between us, but it was the easy kind. I’d learned to breathe in Luca’s silence. It was steady. Reliable. Nothing like the storm that used to live inside Dante’s eyes.

But as I stared down at the glittering city, a familiar chill snaked its way down my spine.

Someone was watching.

I turned slowly, scanning the dark edges of the balcony. For a heartbeat, the crowd noise inside faded, leaving only the sound of my breathing.

And then, I saw him.

Dante stood in the shadows just beyond the open balcony doors, the city light catching on the sharp lines of his face. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The meeting was over. The party was dying. But he was still here.

Our eyes locked.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

But the message was clear. This wasn’t over.