Chapter 10 - THE CITY AT HER FEET
Late that night, long after the last guests had departed and the ballroom doors were locked, Dora and Victor stood on the private balcony of his penthouse suite overlooking the Boston skyline.
The rain had stopped, leaving the night air crisp, clear, and cold. Below them, the lights of the harbor glinted like fallen stars on the dark water.
Victor wrapped his heavy wool coat around Dora’s shoulders from behind, resting his chin gently against the top of her head.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, his arms encircling her waist.
Dora leaned back against his broad chest, holding his hands in hers—the hands of the man who had torn down a criminal empire just to lift her off her knees.
“I was thinking about my old shoes,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “The ones that betrayed me by the third hour.”
Victor smiled, kissing the side of her neck. “I had them burned yesterday.”
“Good,” Dora murmured, turning in his arms to look up into his pale gray eyes. “They didn't fit who I am anymore anyway.”
Victor looked down at her—at the woman who had saved his life in a diner backroom, who had faced down high-society cruelty without crying, and who had stood beside him through a war in the streets.
He took her right hand, lifting it once more to his lips, pressing a slow, deep kiss against her knuckles where the small glass scar now shone like a silver badge of honor.
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“You are the Queen of this city now, Dora,” Victor whispered, his voice dark, fierce, and full of devotion. “And as long as I draw breath, no one will ever ask you to kneel again.”
Dora reached up, her fingers tracing the scar on his jawline, pulling his mouth down to hers as the cold Boston wind blew past them, carrying the sound of a city that finally knew her name.
