Chapter 6 - The Empire
Six Months Later
The sun was shining brightly through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the Pacific Heights penthouse, burning away the morning fog. I stood at the kitchen counter, dressed in tailored slacks and a silk blouse, reviewing a stack of architectural blueprints.
“If you put the MRI machine on the second floor, the structural reinforcement is going to delay opening by a month,” I muttered, tapping my pen against the paper.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Roman pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder, his chest rumbling with a low laugh.
“Then we delay it a month,” he murmured, his hands resting over mine. “You are the director of the Bianchi Foundation Medical Center, Nora. If you want the MRI on the roof, I will have a helicopter drop it there.”
I turned around in his arms, smiling up at him. Roman looked healthier, stronger, and more terrifyingly handsome than the night he collapsed on my welcome mat. The scar on his side was a faded silver line, a permanent reminder of how we met.
The last six months had been a whirlwind. True to his word, Roman had ensured I never worried about money again. But I wasn't built to be a trophy wife, sitting in a penthouse while he ran his empire. I needed a purpose.
Roman had bought a massive, abandoned warehouse in the Mission District and handed me a blank check. I was building a free medical clinic for the city’s undocumented, uninsured, and forgotten populations. It was entirely legitimate, fully funded by Roman’s real estate ventures, and fiercely protected by his name. No one dared steal from or vandalize the Bianchi Clinic.
“I don't want a helicopter,” I said, looping my arms around his neck. “I just want the contractors to listen to me.”
“They will listen, or Dante will have a conversation with them,” Roman promised, his eyes darkening with that familiar, possessive heat.
“No threatening the plumbers,” I scolded, though I was smiling.
Roman chuckled, leaning down to press a deep, lingering kiss against my lips. He tasted like black coffee and absolute devotion.
The underworld of San Francisco still existed. Roman was still the Boss. He still had meetings in dark rooms, and Dante still carried a concealed weapon everywhere we went. But the empire had shifted. Roman had purged the reckless, violent elements that Silas had fostered, bringing a cold, disciplined peace to the city.
He was a king, and he treated me like his equal.
“We have the gala tonight,” Roman reminded me, his thumb tracing my jawline. “The mayor is expecting us.”
“I know. I have the dress you bought me,” I said.
Roman reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, velvet box. He didn't drop to one knee—that wasn't Roman Bianchi’s style. He simply opened the box, revealing a flawless, stunning diamond ring that caught the morning light like a captured star.
“I told you that night in the dark,” Roman said, his voice dropping into that serious, gravelly tone that made my heart race. “I told you that you were mine. I want the entire city to know it. I want every rival, every politician, and every man who looks at you to know exactly who you belong to, and who belongs to you.”
He looked into my eyes, stripping away all the armor he wore for the rest of the world.
“Marry me, Nora. Let me spend the rest of my life proving that you saving me was the best thing that ever happened to either of us.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I looked at the man who had terrified me, kidnapped me, protected me, and ultimately, worshipped me. The man who had walked into my tiny apartment bleeding, and walked out with my soul.
“Yes,” I whispered.
May you like
Roman slipped the ring onto my finger. It was a perfect fit. He pulled me against his chest, lifting me off the floor as he kissed me, sealing the promise.
I had been a waitress struggling to survive. Now, I was the only thing the most dangerous man in the city would never, ever let go.
