Chapter 8 - The Final Test
A week before our wedding, a quiet shadow tried to cast a final stain on our happiness.
A lingering faction of Marco’s old allies—a crew of disgraced captains who had managed to evade the initial purge—thought they could strike at Kian by targeting the wedding venue, an exquisite private villa on the cliffs of Newport, Rhode Island.
They believed that because Kian was distracted by love, he had grown soft.
They were gravely mistaken.
The night before the ceremony, while I was inside the villa reviewing the floral arrangements with Zayn, three armed intruders managed to bypass the outer gate, slipping into the dark courtyard with silent weapons.
They thought they were ambushing an unsuspecting bride.
Instead, they stepped straight into a trap designed by the bride herself.
Having lived as a survivor on the streets of New York for years, my senses were sharper than any mobster gave me credit for. The moment I noticed the subtle flicker of a motion sensor light on the west balcony, I didn't panic.
I calmly escorted Zayn into the villa’s reinforced safe room, locked the biometric door, and picked up the pearl-handled 9mm pistol Kian had gifted me for my protection.
When the first intruder kicked open the heavy oak doors of the grand hall, he was met not with a screaming victim, but with a cold, precise shot that took out his knee before he could even raise his rifle.
“Drop your weapons!” my voice echoed through the high-arched hall, steady and deadly.
The remaining two men froze in absolute shock, staring at the stunning woman standing on the marble balcony above them, holding a gun with military precision.
Before they could recover, the heavy double doors behind them were thrown open.
Kian and his tactical strike team entered like an army of darkness. Within three seconds, the intruders were pinned to the floor, disarmed, and cuffed.
Kian rushed up the grand staircase, his eyes wild with concern. “Aurora! Are you hurt?!”
I lowered the pistol, offering him a cool, confident smile that mirrored his own terrifying charm. “I told you, Kian. I’m not a damsel in distress anymore. I am a Moretti.”
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Kian stopped in his tracks. He looked at the disarmed men on the floor, then back at me. A look of profound, fierce pride filled his gray eyes. He walked over, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me until I was breathless.
“God, I love you,” he growled softly against my throat. “You truly are my lethal queen.”
