The smoke from the burning balcony curtains billowed into the high-ceilinged bedroom, carrying the sharp stench of cordite, singed velvet, and old blood.

The High Citadel was a massive, gothic stone fortress sitting on the cliffs overlooking the dark, churning waters of the Atlantic. For a century, it had served as the neutral meeting ground for the five syndicate families that ruled the eastern seaboard.

At eleven-thirty, a convoy of four black armored SUVs tore through the heavy iron gates of the Citadel.

I sat in the back of the lead SUV, wearing a striking, tailored velvet dress of deep crimson—a color chosen deliberately to hide any blood that might seep from my thigh bandage, and to symbolize the bloodline I was returning to claim. The dress had a low, off-the-shoulder cut that exposed the Valente mark on my shoulder in full, glorious view.

Beside me, Roman wore a charcoal three-piece suit. He looked magnificent, deadly, and entirely unbothered by the fact that we were walking into a room full of men who wanted us dead.

He reached across the leather seat, taking my hand. His fingers locked with mine.

"Once we enter those doors," Roman said softly, "the law of the Council applies. No weapons are allowed inside the Inner Chamber. It will be just us, our words, and my security team waiting outside."

"Are you scared?" I asked, looking into his sharp profile.

Roman looked at me, a soft, dangerous smile playing on his lips. "I was scared when I thought you were dying in the cellar, Clara. Here? In front of those old parasites? I feel nothing at all."

He leaned in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss against my knuckles. "Just stay behind me when the talking stops."

The SUV stopped. Viktor opened the door.

We stepped out into the freezing coastal wind. Guards in black uniforms lined the stone steps of the Citadel, their hands resting on their holstered weapons. They watched us with cold, hungry eyes, like vultures waiting for a carcass.

Roman held out his arm. I slid my hand through his elbow, holding my head high, my shoulders back, letting the cold air touch the mark on my skin.

We walked up the grand stone steps, our footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the entrance hall.

Two heavy oak doors swung open, revealing the Inner Chamber—a massive, circular amphitheater lit by roaring iron braziers. Sitting behind a curved marble table at the center of the room were the five Don's of the High Council, surrounded by fifty heavily armed lieutenants.

Standing at the center of the floor, bound in heavy iron chains, was Don Corvo. His face was bruised, his arm in a sling, but his eyes burned with psychotic triumph when he saw us enter.

"Members of the Council!" Corvo bellowed, his raspy voice echoing off the stone walls. "Look at her! Look at the woman Roman Vance brought into our sanctuary! Look at her shoulder!"

A collective gasp rippled through the gallery of lieutenants as light from the braziers caught the crimson velvet of my dress and illuminated the winged crown on my shoulder.

The Chairman of the Council—an ancient, bald man named Don Moretti—slammed his gavel against the marble table.

"Silence!" Moretti roared.

He leaned forward, his yellowed eyes fixing onto me with intense hostility. "Roman Vance. You were summoned to answer charges of high treason. Is it true? Have you taken the surviving daughter of Julian Valente as your wife?"

Roman stepped forward, pulling me smoothly alongside him. He did not bow. He did not show a shred of deference.

"She is my wife," Roman declared, his voice cutting through the room like a silver blade. "She is Clara Vance. And yes—she is the sole surviving heir of the Valente bloodline."

The room erupted into chaotic shouting. Lieutenants reached for concealed weapons; council members screamed for security.

BANG! BANG!

Moretti fired two shots into the stone ceiling from a hidden gun beneath his desk, restoring a tense, terrifying quiet.

"You brought a Valente into this house?!" Moretti hissed, his face contorted in rage. "The Valente family was stripped of their seat twenty-four years ago! Their bloodline was condemned to extinction by unanimous vote of this Council!"

"Their bloodline was betrayed by cowards!" I stepped forward, my voice ringing out clear, sharp, and fearless.

The entire chamber froze, staring at me in shock. Women in the syndicate did not speak in the Council chamber. Wives did not raise their voices to Don's.

"Who allowed this girl to speak?!" Corvo spat.

"I am not a girl," I said, walking three steps closer to the marble desk, leaving Roman’s side to stand directly in front of the five Don's. "I am Clara Valente-Vance. My father built the harbor docks you currently profit from. My mother built the international trade routes you use to feed your families. Twenty-four years ago, Don Corvo and Don Vance set fire to my home because they were too weak to defeat my father in open warfare!"

I reached into my velvet bodice, pulled out the blackened metal pendant Roman had given me, and slammed it onto the marble desk in front of Moretti.