only difference was that the shadow we cast had grown wide enough to cover an
entire generation.
The moon hung high over the city, casting a stark, silver glow across the sprawling
rooftop terrace of the D’Angelo estate. Below, the ancient streets of Rome hummed
with life, a sprawling grid of golden lights cutting through the darkness. The city was
peaceful, undisturbed, fully tamed by the quiet, ruthless efficiency of our decade-long
reign.
I stood near the stone balustrade, the cool evening air rustling the heavy fabric of
my midnight-green velvet gown. I lifted my left hand, the soft moonlight catching the
intricate tattoos on my inner wrist—the dagger and the blooming black rose that Caleb
had etched into my skin after the harvest.
A heavy, synchronized pair of footsteps echoed against the stone floor.
I turned to see our nine-year-old twin boys, Matteo and Leo, walking toward me.
Even at their young age, they carried the unmistakable, rigid posture of the D'Angelo
bloodline. They were dressed in sharp, tailored charcoal suits, their dark hair neatly
styled, but it was their eyes that gave them away—both had inherited their father’s
piercing, ocean-green gaze. They moved like silent predators in training, already
comfortable in the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of old wealth and untouchable
power.
"Mother," Matteo spoke first, his voice carrying a quiet, serious gravity that always
reminded me of his father. "The final guests have arrived downstairs."
"The politicians from Milan are waiting," Leo added, a faint, dangerous smirk
playing at the edge of his lips—a perfect mirror of Caleb's expression. "Should we tell
Father to begin?"
I smiled, reaching down to place my hands lightly on their shoulders. "Let them
wait a moment longer, my loves. In this family, we never rush for the amusement of
others."
A deeper, heavier step resonated from the shadows of the arched doorway. Caleb
emerged into the moonlight, looking devastatingly powerful in a perfectly tailored
black tuxedo. The tattoos creeping up his neck looked like living art against his crisp
white collar, and his green eyes locked onto the three of us with a fierce, absolute
devotion that had only deepened over the last thirteen years.
He walked up behind me, wrapping his massive arms around my waist and
drawing me flush against his chest. He lowered his head, pressing a warm, lingering
kiss to the scarred, inked skin of my collarbone, right over the crown of thorns that
started it all.
"They look sharp tonight, *mia regina*," Caleb murmured, his low, gravelly purr
sending that familiar, phantom chill straight down my spine. He looked down at the
boys, a proud, aristocratic satisfaction flashing across his sharp features. "A proper
front line for the empire."
Matteo and Leo both straightened up under their father's gaze, their young faces
setting into masks of quiet authority.
"We are ready, Father," Matteo said firmly.
Caleb nodded slowly, his grip tightening around my waist, anchoring me to him as
he always did before we stepped into the light. He looked out over the sprawling,
ancient city of Rome, then turned his focus entirely back to me. The romantic,
dangerous fire in his eyes burned hotter than ever.
"We built this kingdom on shadows, Jackline," Caleb whispered into my hair, his
voice laced with absolute, possessive certainty. "But together with them, we have
turned it into a dynasty. Nothing can touch us now."
I turned in his arms, my hands sliding up the lapels of his jacket as the twins
stepped up to flank us on either side. I had fiercely guarded my freedom all my life,
only to find the ultimate, untouchable freedom in the dark, romantic empire we had
built, protected, and passed down to the bloodlines of the night.
Together, the four of us walked toward the grand marble staircase to rule Rome.