Chapter 19 - The Anchor Holds
The breath left my lungs in a sharp gasp.
I looked down at Finn, his wide, dark eyes filled with so much hope, so much raw, innocent longing, that my chest felt as if it were cracking wide open.
Then, I looked up at Victor.
Victor was staring down at me, his hand still resting against my waist, his gray eyes burning with an intensity so profound, so terrifyingly honest, that the whole world seemed to tilt on its axis.
“Victor…” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Did you just… tell her…”
“Finn, buddy,” Victor said softly, never taking his eyes off mine. “Marcus is in the kitchen with the fresh cookies. Why don't you go grab one?”
Finn beamed, completely forgetting the terror of his grandmother, and sprinted down the hall toward the smell of chocolate.
When the boy was gone, Victor stepped closer, taking both of my trembling hands into his large, calloused palms.
“I didn't say it to scare her, Harper,” Victor said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp. “I said it because it’s the only truth that makes sense anymore.”
“Victor, we… we only just crossed this line three days ago,” I argued, though my heart was hammering a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs. “The court battle, your syndicate, your enemies—it’s too fast. You don't have to marry me to win custody.”
“To hell with the custody battle,” Victor growled softly, pulling me closer until my chest pressed against his. “I have enough evidence on the Vincenzos to send their whole lineage to federal prison. Beatrice was never going to win that boy. I said it because of you.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Me?”
“For fourteen months, you stood in this house and watched me be a monster,” Victor murmured, his fingers gently tracing the curve of my cheek, wiping away a stray tear that escaped my lashes. “You took my cruelty. You took my anger. You held my son when I was too broken to touch him. And instead of running away like any sane woman would, you stitched my flesh and stood in front of an army for us.”
He dropped to one knee.
My hands flew to my mouth, a sob tearing past my lips.
Victor Rossi—the king of Chicago, the man who knelt before no one, the man who terrified emperors and monsters alike—was on his knee on the cold marble floor of his foyer, looking up at me with raw, unfiltered adoration.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Inside sat a vintage ring—a flawless emerald surrounded by a halo of brilliant diamonds.
“This was my grandmother’s,” Victor said, his voice thick with emotion. “It belonged to the matriarch of the Rossi family. The woman who built this empire from nothing with iron and grace. Elena never wore it. I never offered it to her, because deep down, I knew she belonged to a different world.”
He took my left hand in his, his fingers warm and steady.
“You belong here, Harper. In this darkness. In this light. You are the anchor that keeps this house from drowning. You are the only woman I will ever love for the rest of my violent life.”
He looked straight into my soul.
“Will you stay with me? Not as the nanny. Not as the employee. But as my wife? As Finn’s mother? As the queen of this family?”
The tears flowed freely now, hot and sweet, washing away years of loneliness, years of believing that no one was waiting for me, that I was destined to take care of everyone else’s happiness while standing on the outside looking in.
“Yes,” I choked out, throwing my arms around his neck as he rose to his feet. “Yes, Victor. A thousand times, yes.”
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Victor let out a ragged, triumphant breath, lifting me off my feet, spinning me around in the grand foyer as his mouth crashed down on mine in a kiss that promised forever, sealing the vow in blood, fire, and love.
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