Chapter 7 - The Cleansing of Sands Point
By sunset, the dark clouds that had hung over Sands Point for days finally broke, revealing a striking, blood-red horizon over the Long Island Sound.
A column of dark smoke had risen from the distant boathouse on the rocky shore an hour earlier, before fading into the evening sky. The traitors were gone. The purge of the Russo estate was complete.
Downstairs, the house was undergoing a complete restructuring. Mrs. Gable’s staff had been dismissed, replaced by loyal guards and verified domestic staff brought directly from Graham’s personal security firm.
In the West Wing, peace had finally settled.
Isabella was resting comfortably, her detox progression moving ahead smoothly under the care of a newly vetted, elite medical team from Johns Hopkins who had arrived by helicopter two hours prior.
Beatrice stood on the balcony of her private suite, watching the cold waves lap against the cliffs below. She wore a soft grey sweater, her dark hair blowing gently in the sea breeze.
Her life had changed so fast it felt like a dream.
Fifty-two thousand dollars of debt cleared. Her family protected. The evil in this house eradicated.
A warm pair of hands settled gently onto her waist from behind.
Beatrice didn't flinch. She leaned back into the powerful chest of Graham Russo, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against her back.
"The elders held an emergency meeting an hour ago," Graham murmured against her ear, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. "Victor’s territories in Brooklyn have been completely absorbed into my personal estate. The family is unified."
"I’m glad it’s over," Beatrice whispered, turning her head slightly to look at him.
Graham turned her around in his arms so she was facing him. He looked down at her—at her dark, expressive eyes, her soft, beautiful face, her full curves that filled his hands so perfectly.
"It’s not over, Beatrice," Graham said softly, his thumbs lightly tracing the curve of her hip. "It’s just beginning."
"What do you mean?"
"You came into this house to scrub floors and hide," Graham said, his flint-gray eyes burning with intense, unyielding devotion. "You saved my mother’s life. You saved my empire. And you saved me from becoming the monster everyone thought I was."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.
He opened it.
Inside sat a massive, flawless emerald ring surrounded by brilliant diamonds—a ring that had belonged to the Russo family matriarchs for three generations.
Beatrice gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Graham..."
"I don't want you as a caretaker, Beatrice," Graham declared, his voice firm, powerful, and utterly devoid of doubt. "I want you as my wife. I want you as the Queen of this estate. I want every man in New York to know that the woman beside me is the strongest, most radiant soul in this city."
Tears spilled over Beatrice’s eyelashes, hot and fast.
For twenty-eight years, the world had told her she was too much, too big, too soft, unworthy of love or admiration.
And here stood the most powerful man in New York, looking at her as if she were the only woman in existence.
"They will say... they will say I don't belong in your world, Graham," Beatrice sobbed softly. "They will say a maid from Queens cannot rule a crime empire."
Graham leaned down, pressing his lips passionately against hers in a deep, possessive kiss that consumed her entire being. When he finally pulled back, his dark eyes were blazing.
"Let them say whatever they want," Graham whispered fiercely against her lips. "If anyone speaks against my Queen... I will burn their world to the ground."
May you like
Beatrice let out a breathless, happy laugh, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
"Yes," she whispered into the cool evening air. "Yes, Graham. I will marry you."
