The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,70

in love.

And I knew in that moment, if Salvatore did kill him, I would kill him. I would abandon my plans and ambition. I would hunt Salvatore every day, haunt him and turn him insane. I would fold him inside out until he would beg me for mercy.

I let Alessandro know this, telling him with my eyes.

He mouthed something to me.

Then he turned back to his brother, fists swinging, more violent than before.

The crowd hissed as they made contact with each other’s flesh and cheered when they heard the snap of bones. It was difficult to know who they were rooting for, but it was clear, whoever won, they would accept as their don.

Suddenly, Alessandro got the upper hand, so quickly, so abruptly, that I couldn’t even register as he—

He punched Salvatore right in the temple, the sound of his skull shattering ringing through the gated community.

My brother-in-law slumped.

Alessandro, as quick as a whip, turned on his heel and strode over to me. I couldn’t say anything as he grabbed my wrist, took a gun from Gabriel and pulled me across the bloodied snow, to where his brother lay.

Salvatore looked up at his, fighting for his life.

Alessandro pressed the gun into my hand. “It is your life he has tried to take multiple times. From the attack in the penthouse to the sniper at the hospital.”

That was true.

“His death belongs to you, my love. Nobody else.”

I stared down at Salvatore Jr, alarmed that, even in death, very little emotion passed over his face.

I thought of all the pain and fear he had caused me. He had purposely relaxed security around me, tricked bodyguards into thinking I was fine, and left me exposed.

Not only had Adelasia died at his hands, but so had Don Piero.

I tightened my grip on the gun.

The last time I had killed someone had been at my wedding. I remembered the feel of the knife piercing the flesh, the flush of hot blood pouring onto me.

This time wouldn’t be so feral, so vicious. It was more relaxed, more controlled.

Much more my style.

To my husband, I asked, “You will forgive me for this?”

Alessandro rested his hand on the back of my neck, bloodied and cold, but familiar and comforting. “Everything you will ever do, Sophia Rocchetti, has already been forgiven.”

I held the gun over my brother-in-law, finger on the trigger.

“I’m not sure I know how to do it,” I murmured.

Alessandro came around me, holding my wrist firmly. In my ear, he said, “Yes, you do. There is nothing you don’t know how to do. No obstacle or challenge you have not defeated. Do you know why I was always going to be the don? Because I had you, my donna, my queen.”

The strength of the gun recoiled through my arm, only Alessandro’s strong chest stopping me from flying back.

Salvatore’s head hit the snow, blood pooling.

Snowflakes continued to fall, delicate and peaceful.

I breathed deeply. “Is it done? Did we win?”

Alessandro kissed my cheek, “Take a look for yourself.”

I turned around and met the eyes of the Chicago Outfit. All the women who I had spent hours with, all the men who feared my husband. These people who I had known as uncles and aunts and cousins, whom I had called family.

Did you all fall for it? I wanted to ask. Did my pretty words convince you that I should be your queen? Has my self-discipline failed me?

Do you worship me as much as my husband does?

Toto the Terrible stepped forward, “To the Don and Donna of the Outfit! King and Queen of Chicago!”

The Outfit roared in agreement, cheering for our reign, our leadership. Snow was thrown, kisses were shared. Their cheers were so loud that Heaven and Hell could’ve have heard them, would know now that Alessandro and I had won.

I turned to my husband, the love of my life, pressing my lips against his.

“To the Rocchettis,” he murmured.

“To our dynasty.” I whispered back.

T he soft chatter of the baby on the baby monitor woke me up.

I rubbed my eyes blearily, half-listening to my daughter. She didn't sound in distress, just talking and singing to herself. I twisted my head back into the pillow, trying to fall back to asleep.

Then, "Mamaa," she began singing. "Mamaaa."

I sighed and lifted my head up. Fast asleep beside me, Alessandro was lying on his stomach, one arm around the pillow and the second around my waist. He was breathing heavily.

He had gotten home in the early morning, smelling of gunpowder and blood.

I brushed