Chapter 11 - LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
The private jet climbed above the clouds, leaving the gray skies of Europe behind. Elara leaned back against the plush leather seat, watching the horizon turn gold as they headed back to New York.
Dominic sat across from her, a crystal tumbler of bourbon in his hand. He watched her with that same intense, predatory focus he had shown on the first night in the restaurant. But now, there was a profound softness beneath it—a fierce, unconditional loyalty.
"Is it done?" he asked.
"She won't be a problem," Elara smiled, kicking her heels off and resting her bare feet in his lap.
Dominic’s hand absentmindedly traced the curve of her ankle. "You know, when you dropped that tray in L'Oasis, I thought you were just a brave girl about to get herself killed."
"And now?"
May you like
"Now," Dominic said, raising his glass in a toast, "I know you're the most dangerous thing that ever walked into my life. And I wouldn't trade you for the world."
Elara smiled, taking the glass from his hand and taking a sip. The city was waiting for them. The empire was secure. The waitress had overthrown the wife, tamed the wolf, and taken the crown. And as the plane flew into the setting sun, Elara knew one thing for absolute certain: she had finally found exactly where she belonged.
