Chapter 18 – A Queen Among Wolves
Valentina Cruz
There are two kinds of women at a mafia gala.
The kind draped over a man's arm like a glittering accessory.
And the kind who walk in alone and make the room stop breathing.
I intended to be the latter.
⸻
Rosa helped me pick the dress.
It was black. Of course it was black.
But this wasn't funeral black — this was vengeance black.
Silk that hugged me like sin.
A slit that threatened reputations.
And a neckline that could've caused accidents in five different countries.
My makeup?
Sharp brows, red lips, and eyeliner so bold it could've cut glass.
When I stepped into the foyer, Rafael looked up — and for the first time, his jaw actually dropped.
"Say something," I teased, spinning slowly.
"If I say what I'm thinking," he said hoarsely, "we'll be very, very late."
I smirked. "Good. Let them wait."
⸻
The gala was held in a marble mansion on the outskirts of the city — the kind of place with chandeliers the size of cars and security guards who smiled like snakes.
Everyone there was dangerous.
And everyone was watching.
But for the first time since this nightmare began, so was I.
I saw how men tilted their heads when I passed.
How women glanced, then whispered.
I wasn't the poor college girl anymore.
I was his wife. And I walked like it.
⸻
Celia, of course, was there.
She wore emerald — the color of envy, which was fitting — and sipped champagne like it was gossip.
She spotted me and smiled, as fake as her cheekbones.
"Darling," she purred. "You clean up nice."
I took her hand and leaned in with a kiss to her cheek — mafia-style.
Then I whispered, "Careful, Celia. I bite now."
Her smile twitched.
I walked away before she could reply.
Behind me, Rafael chuckled under his breath. "You're enjoying this."
I grinned. "Is it that obvious?"
⸻
The night was a blur of music, menace, and too many glasses of sparkling things I couldn't pronounce.
Then came the real moment.
The toast.
Rafael stepped onto the small platform, lifting his glass.
"Tonight," he said, voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous, "we celebrate more than territory. We celebrate power. Power that isn't just held, but shared."
He turned, reaching for me.
My breath caught as he extended his hand — not as a master to a trophy…
But as a king to his queen.
I joined him, and together we raised our glasses.
"To new alliances," he said.
"To new beginnings," I added, voice steady.
Celia looked like she wanted to choke on her drink.
⸻
That night, as we returned to the mansion, Rafael pulled me into the hallway before the guards could even finish locking the door.
"You were magnificent," he whispered, pressing me against the wall.
"I was me," I corrected.
He kissed me like he couldn't help himself — hungry, proud, desperate.
And maybe that's what we were now.
Not just husband and wife.
But two broken people learning how to become something more — together.