Chapter 11 - AN EMPIRE OF OUR OWN
One year later.
The Rusted Nail had been bought, gutted, and turned into a high-end, exclusive speakeasy. The floors were polished mahogany, the whiskey was top-shelf, and the clientele spoke in hushed, respectful tones.
In the back booth—the very same spot where a waitress had once flipped a sniper's trap—sat the King and Queen of New York.
Hunter Valenti wore a silk emerald dress, a diamond glittering on her left hand. She sipped her champagne, leaning comfortably against her husband's side. Cain had one arm draped possessively over the back of the booth, his thumb gently stroking her bare shoulder. He looked at her not as a boss looking at a subordinate, but as a man looking at his salvation.
A foreign associate approached the table, nervously offering a deal in rapid French.
May you like
Cain didn't look at the man. He looked at his wife, a soft, devoted smile playing on his lips.
Hunter smiled back, her eyes shining with fierce intelligence and profound happiness. She turned to the associate, speaking in flawless French, dictating the terms of their empire. She was no longer hiding, no longer running. She had found her voice, and she was never going to be silent again.
