Chapter 10 - Where The Blood Dries
Clara turned around, leaning her back against the warm mantelpiece, crossing her arms with a slow, confident smile that made Leo’s heart hammer against his cracked ribs.
"Did you really think I saved your life just to hand you an annulment?" she asked.
Leo leaned back against the headboard, a slow, disbelieving laugh rumbling in his chest. "Clara... you know what I am. You know what this house is. There will be other Morettis. There will always be another war."
"Then we fight it together," she said, walking back to the bed and sliding onto the mattress beside him, slipping beneath the duvet until she was nestled against his uninjured right side. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in the cedar and soap of his skin. "I spent two years thinking you were a tyrant who wanted an ornament. I didn't know you were a man willing to take a bullet just so I wouldn't have to hear the gunfire."
Leo raised his arm, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest as if he would never let go. His lips pressed against her hair, his eyes closing in profound, unadulterated relief.
"I've loved you since the day you walked into my office two years ago," he confessed into the quiet room, the words tearing out of his soul with a vulnerability he had never allowed himself to feel. "You were terrified, but your chin was held high, and you looked me dead in the eye without flinching. I knew right then... I would burn this entire city to the ground before I let anyone hurt you."
Clara smiled against his neck, kissing the faint white scar at his collarbone. "Then don't burn it alone next time. We're partners now, Leo. In every sense of the word."
"Partners," he agreed, his fingers tracing the soft curve of her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of sweet coffee, shared mornings, and a peace they had both fought through hell to earn.
Later that evening, after the sun had dipped below the lake and the estate had settled into a warm, guarded tranquility, Matteo arrived at the master suite carrying a large, rectangular black box wrapped in a satin ribbon.
"What is that?" Leo asked, raising an eyebrow from his armchair by the terrace doors.
Matteo cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable, and placed the box on the coffee table in front of Clara. "A delivery from the designer in Milan, boss. You placed the order yesterday afternoon from your secure terminal."
Matteo bowed his head respectfully and slipped out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
Clara looked at Leo, whose expression was carefully schooled into that familiar, unreadable mask, though the faint twitch at the corner of his jaw betrayed him.
"You went shopping while on bed rest?" she teased, untying the satin ribbon.
"Open it," he ordered softly.
Clara lifted the heavy lid and parted the layers of tissue paper.
Inside lay a gown made of the finest, most breathtaking silk she had ever seen. But it wasn't navy. It wasn't black, and it certainly wasn't designed to let her melt into the background.
It was crimson—the vivid, screaming shade of arterial blood, cut with an open back and a daring slit up the thigh, accompanied by a matching diamond choker that caught the chandelier light like fire.
Pinned to the silk was a small, handwritten note in Leo’s bold, angular script:
*To my wife—*
*Wear it wherever you want.*
*This time, the whole world can look.*
*Because they all know you belong to me, and I belong to you.*
Clara picked up the crimson dress, holding it against her chest, her reflection in the full-length mirror showing a woman transformed—no longer trapped, no longer hiding in shadows, but standing tall beside the king she had chosen.
She looked at Leo through the glass. He was watching her, his eyes dark, hungry, and entirely hers.
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"Well, Mr. Rossi," Clara whispered, a dangerous, beautiful smile curving her lips. "I think the car is waiting."
"Let it wait," Leo murmured, standing up from his chair and crossing the room to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. "Tonight, Clara... the world can wait for us."
