The Emperor (Dark Verse Book 3)

by RuNyx

  “No, don’t touch the chandelier,” she told one of the staff who was on a ladder, stringing lights across the room in preparation for the wedding ceremony in one week. It was going to be a grand affair, and not because either she or Dante wanted that.

  She’d never thought as a child how her wedding was going to be. Back then, all she’d seen had been Dante and he had been unreachable, so wedding days weren’t really something that she’d given any thought. She liked how the preparation was going though.

  The garden behind the mansion, from the wall to the gazebo, had already been decorated. Poles had been set up and canopies of sheer white and gold had been put up, covering the entire open space. Seating places were being set up, flowers had been booked, and basically, the entire lavish ceremony was good to go. And since it was almost the summer, there was no possibility of rain for the week, only bright sun and cool winds.

  Amara couldn’t remember ever having seen a party of this scale on the compound. Including the acquaintances of Mr. Maroni and the families of the Outfit and its partners, well over seven hundred people attending the wedding of Dante Maroni and his outsider bride. Most of them didn’t approve, from what the grapevine said, but they were all supportive of Dante’s ascension and his new reign, and what he would bring to the table.

  “Ouch,” Morana’s voice said from behind her, her hazel eyes behind the glasses on Amara’s ankles in the flats. “That looks nasty.”

  “Feels worse,” Amara groaned. “I swear she feels like a giant even though I know she’s small.”

  “I mean both you and Dante are vertically blessed, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s tall too,” Morana commented. She and Tristan had flown in last night, a week before the wedding, so they could help out. Since Damien wasn’t attending, Tristan had agreed to stand with Dante and Morana with her. Amara knew they weren’t getting married anytime before they had answers about Luna, but secretly she hoped one day soon they would. The biggest surprise though had been the little boy they’d brought with them.

  Xander was a quiet kid, but he’d already weaved his way into Tristan and Morana’s life. Amara had seen both him and Tristan playing cards at night and she understood what Morana meant. Tristan loved the boy. It was evident in the way he stood close to his side, or always kept his eyes on him when he was in the room, or ruffled his hair. Amara recognized the ways Tristan fell in love, the same way he had with Morana, just with much less turmoil. As for Morana herself, she had taken to Xander like a pro. And given both their histories, Amara was certain they would make incredible parents to the little boy if they chose to keep him.

  “Your dress is here, by the way,” Morana grinned, her excitement infectious. “It’s so gorgeous, Amara. You’re going to blind Dante.”

  Amara snorted. “I hope not. Any news about Nerea?”

  Morana shook her head, watching the giant chandelier being sparkled. “She’s gone underground, but I’m not surprised. She had to have known your father was MrX.”

  Amara shrugged, still willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Maybe, she didn’t, Morana. We don’t really know anything about her or her past. And she’s been good enough to me over the years that I won’t throw it out, not without proof.”

  Morana nodded. “I like that about you, you know? Your openness. Damn, who has these huge ass chandeliers in like every non-bedroom room? Crazy rich people.”

  Amara laughed, felt the pressure build in her bladder, and sighed. Few more weeks. Just a few more weeks.

  On her way back from the bathroom off the living room, Amara climbed the stairs to the second floor where Dante’s mother’s painting studio had been. She had never had the chance to go there before, and she’d always wanted to.

  The huge room was empty except for a few boxes and art supplies under a large window, right opposite the entrance that had the entire vista of the hills and the river running through it laid there for her viewing. Amara headed to it, taking in the view. It was beautiful, and she could see why it had been artistically inspiring.

  “This is where he killed her, you know,” the feminine voice behind her had Amara spinning on her swollen feet, wincing at the throb in them.

  She looked as Nerea slinked out from behind the door, dressed all in black, looking far older than Amara had ever seen her look, lines of stress on her face.

  “Sister,” Amara rasped out. “We have been looking for you.”

  The other woman nodded. “I know. I’ve been hiding.”

  Amara blinked. “Why?”

  Nerea gave a smile, one that sent a chill down Amara’s spine. “You have an amazing mother, you know,” she started, stepping closer into the room.

  Amara instinctively took a step back, staying silent.

  “You have an amazing friend,” Nerea continued, her tone soft, slithering between them like a serpent. “You have an amazing man. And now, you’ll have an amazing child. Amazing Amara.”

  Amara felt her chest go tight, her hands protectively covering her belly.

  “And you know what I had?” Nerea took another step, her hand stroking the gun at the side of her hip. “I had an abusive father who let his friends rape me. I had a shittier mother for leaving me with him after she knew what he’d done. And I had no friends because he started training me to be a spy.”

  Her heart hurt for the woman, even as her senses stayed alert. “I know how the shame feels, Nerea. I know how it stains your soul.”

  “No, you don’t,” Nerea shook her head with a laugh. “What, you think you get tortured for three days and raped by three men, you know how it feels? You can never know, Amara, because after he ordered them to let you go, you had people who coddled you and sent you to fucking therapy, for god’s sake. I had a cold room and training to attend in the morning. So, no, Amara, you’ll never know how it feels. The dark in your soul is but a blemish. The dark in mine is an eclipse.”

  The pain in her voice, the anguish in her face, the torture in her eyes made Amara’s heart bleed, her pulse pounding in her veins as blood rushed to her ears.

  Nerea chuckled at her silence. “I was fine, you know. I was coping. Until Xavier gave me the assignment to be the spy in the Outfit, and get close to you on the side, just to make sure you didn’t blab anything. They accepted me because I was his daughter, and I came here happy that I had a sister, happy we didn’t know our father, happy that she could understand my pain, hoping to connect. And I saw you – beautiful, scarred Amara who had a mother who loved her, a friend who protected her, and the fucking prince of the Outfit in the palm of her hands. That upset me, Amara.”

  Amara felt a tightening in her stomach, her breathing getting a little labored. “I’m sorry,” she told her sister, her heart clenching in pain. “I’m so sorry for everything, Nerea.”

  Nerea tilted her head to the side, considering her. “You know, I think you might actually mean that. And that just makes me hate you even more.”

  The intensity of that emotion emanating from the older woman hit Amara square in the chest, sending pain down her stomach. Amara gripped her bump, willing herself to stay calm and not stress the baby, but fuck it was hard. She needed to get out of the room.

  Amara went to take a step to the side, only to have the other woman block her, and her heart began to pound uncontrollably.

  The baby. She had to stay calm for the baby. She couldn’t lose her too. Not now.

  Amara took a deep breath in, willing her body to listen to her brain. “Let me out, Nerea.”

  Nerea smiled. “We’re just having a long-overdue conversation, sister.”

  Amara glanced at the gun on her hip, swallowing. “I don’t understand. You were so nice to me, especially when I was exiled.”

  “Oh, I was happy when you got exiled,” her sister mentioned, playing with the gun on her hip. “Lorenzo didn’t really care about what Dante was doing with you. You were an insider and a servant’s daughter, and he didn’t care where Dante stuck his dick. It wasn’t until I
whispered to him how emotionally attached Dante was to you, how you were seeing dreams of taking over his empire, how you would bring the Maroni name to shame. Oh, he ate it up, the egotistical jackass.”

  She remembered the day she’d been called to the mansion out of the blue, the entire conversation in the room, the way her heart had broken.

  “I thought you’d be in pain and I was happy,” Nerea shook her head in disbelief. “But no, you’re Amazing Amara. You got a full fucking ride to university to study what you wanted, you got a beautiful apartment, you got a car, you even got a fucking cat. Guess it pays to fuck the prince, huh.”

  Rage, so deep and vicious and old, flooded her system. Amara had always chalked everything that had happened to fate but staring at this woman she shared half her blood with, realizing that she was responsible for the pain and loneliness she had suffered, that Dante had suffered, pure, unadulterated rage engulfed her.

  She stayed silent, seething, pieces clicking into place.

  Nerea took the gun out of the holster, and Amara turned slightly to the side, instinctively shielding her womb. This woman might have destroyed her but she would not destroy her daughter, not as long as she had a breath in her body. She needed to buy time.

  Pretending to be afraid and half-afraid, Amara softly asked her. “You’re the one who sent those guys to Los Fortis, didn’t you?”

  Nerea smiled. “How do you think Dante found you so quickly? I got you the fake passport, remember? I knew exactly where you were, and I told him that you’d mentioned going there.”

  Amara nodded. It made sense. “And Alpha? You went to see him?”

  Nerea laughed. “Lorenzo told me about his bastard son a few days before he died, and I was curious. And since I was already in Los Fortis, I set up a meeting with him. He’s a suspicious bastard though. Knew something was up immediately. I was sloppy, flying from Shadow Port. He connected it to you, I guess, and his men almost saved you and Dante.”

  Amara made a note to invite him to the wedding, just to thank him for being good to her and trying to save them.

  “Thankfully, my men got you out before he could interfere,” Nerea sighed. “They all thought you weren’t supposed to be taken, that Dante was the target, but he wasn’t. It was always you. Taking you two to that place was for you. It was a nice touch, wasn’t it?”

  The memory of being tied to that chair again, bleeding between her legs, losing her child assaulted her, the fear, the pain, the anger revolting everything inside her. Amara felt hatred, true hatred, seep into her pores.

  “I lost my baby,” Amara whispered, the muscles in her body tight, her hands fisted on the side. “I lost my child because of you.”

  A smile came over Nerea’s face, the sight sending revulsion through her system. “I’m glad.”

  Oh, the bitch was going to die. The bitch was going to die with pain.

  For the first time in her life, Amara felt true, murderous hatred fill her entire being.

  A contraction hit her stomach, making her gasp as she gripped her stomach.

  Braxton Hicks. That’s what they were. She’d read about them. Yes.

  “Oh, is the baby coming?” Nerea asked with mock-concern, her pretty face twisting into something ugly.

  Amara shook herself. “No.” It couldn’t be. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready. There was no way the baby was ready either.

  Nerea pointed the gun at her, and Amara felt panic, true panic, fill her system, her anxiety hitting the roof as she tried to fight it and contain it inside herself. Fear, fury, and fire mixed inside her, twining around each other so closely she couldn’t even differentiate which was which anymore.

  Protection came to the fore.

  She had to protect the baby. She had to protect herself. She had to live a long and happy life with the man she loved. She deserved it.

  But she was on the second floor in a room nobody ever visited while most people were downstairs preparing for the wedding. Amara took a step back, her hand going behind her. She made it look like she was searching for the windowsill to support herself; instead, her fingers came into contact with the surface of the boxes behind her, searching for a weapon, anything to help her.

  Nerea stepped closer once, twice, three times, until her gun was right over Amara’s stomach, barely an inch away.

  Her heart stopped, before thundering inside her chest, the flush of adrenaline wild in her veins, her entire being acutely aware of every single breath she took that pushed her stomach out, closer to the mouth of the gun. She tried not to breathe too hard, and another violent contraction hit her, hard.

  No. No. No.

  Fight with me, baby, she begged mentally to her unborn child, her heart racing.

  “I’m sorry, Amara,” Nerea said, her words building up inside Amara until her hands started to shake. “You can’t have everything. You won’t have anything. I won’t live knowing you got happiness. I can’t.”

  Nerea’s thumb clocked the top of the gun, unlocking it, her finger tightening on the trigger.

  Amara went wild on the inside, searching behind her, her hand hitting a small can of paint.

  Another contraction hit, faster than the one before.

  Just a little more, baby.

  “You don’t have to do this, Nerea,” she urged the other woman, buying some more time as her hand worked to lift the lid of the can. Amara felt a nail break, the pain in her finger making her wince which thankfully got masked with another contraction.

  Amara gasped, exhaling loudly, covering her stomach with the other hand, the back of it touching the gun.

  She just had one shot at this. Just one shot and she couldn’t miss.

  Swallowing, Amara picked up the can of paint with one hand, swinging her arm around to throw it on the woman’s face, while pushing the arm of the gun to the ceiling with the other. A shot rang out just above her shoulder, and Amara felt her water break at the sound, her heart palpitating as she slugged through the pain.

  Nerea went down with a gasp, her free hand trying to wipe her eyes. Amara bent even though she shouldn’t have, grabbing the gun from the woman’s hand, and turned it around.

  And then she emptied the entire clip into her half-sister.

  The bullets emptied.

  Someone came rushing into the room.

  Amara felt her knees give out as a cramp hit her, all the pain she’d been holding crashing into her, her low-pain threshold making her vision blur with the red stars that started to dance behind her lids.

  Everything became a blur. She felt someone pick her up, carry her, move her. She felt the movement of the car and then the stench of the hospital. The thing she felt most was the endless pain.

  Dante’s hands came to hers at some point, his voice whispering and shouting words of encouragement to her. Sweat drenched her. Lights came in and out of focus. And it went on and on and on and on.

  And hours later, Tempest Talia Ava Maroni slid out into the world with a scream louder than her mother’s. Her lost sister never followed.

  Dante looked down at the little warrior princess in his arms, his little storm, and felt something shift inside him, fall, click into place, locked tight. With the names of both women who had protected their children in their own ways – his mother and Amara’s – Tempest was a wrinkly, scrawny little thing, with a head full of dark hair and eyes squinted closed, looking nothing like the babies he saw in the media. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

  With her rump on his palm and her entire body – waddled in a blanket – fitting in the crook of his arm, Dante felt his eyes begin to burn.

  “Dante-” the voice croaked from the hospital bed, bringing his attention to the woman he didn’t even know what he felt for anymore. Love was too tame a word, adoration too juvenile. Broken and bleeding at fifteen, she had made his world tremble; exhausted and spent now, she owned it.

  He went to sit beside her, putting his precious bundle over her chest, watching as the woman his entire life b
elonged to gave a tearful smile, sobbing as she brought up a scarred hand to hold her, her ring glinting in the muted light.

  “She made it,” Amara rasped out, her liquid eyes taking her in, before coming to his, shimmering with such endless emotion he felt himself falling into them again. Her eyes, those unique, beautiful, expressive eyes, had always been the hook into his chest.

  “She’s a fighter,” Dante said, his voice sounding rough to his ears. “Like you.”

  Amara’s lips trembled. “She ours, Dante. Ours. After all this time.”

  Dante pressed a kiss to her wet lips. “My warrior queen. I’m so proud of you.”

  Amara nuzzled her nose against his. “Did you count her toes?”

  “Every one of them.”

  The princess made a mou with her lips, a mewl coming from her little body.

  “We will keep her safe, won’t we?” she asked him quietly, still looking down at their miracle. Dante rubbed the baby’s soft skin with a finger, his heart clenching as she gripped it with her tiny hands, the trust in the action the same unconscious trust fifteen-year-old Amara had shown him. It made everything inside him vow to shield them.

  “Yes, we will,” he vowed.

  “And if she ever cracks?” Amara locked her gaze with his.

  “Then we fill her up with gold.”

  She smiled, and Dante pressed his forehead to hers.

  “Oh my god, she’s precious,” Morana cooed at little Tempest as Amara sat up on the hospital bed with her in her arms while Dante sat on a chair by the side.

  They had just told Amara the story. Morana had been the one to find her in the room, having heard gunshots, and she had been the one to scream for help. Tristan had been the one to rush in, pick Amara up and carry her to the car while giving out instructions to get Nerea’s body away. Morana had sat in the back with her while Tristan had driven like a madman to the hospital, calling Dante on the way. She had been in labor for five hours with Dante by her side before Tempest came out, screaming like a banshee at being inconvenienced out of her mother’s snug womb.