Page 72 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

WITH THESE HANDS

V ukan told me to wear white. It’s not the color of surrender, it’s the color of command and strength. The couture white silk formal dress has a high collar, and is slit to the thigh. It commands attention.

I wanted them to see me and choke on every assumption they ever made about what it means to be a Borrelli woman.

I was never just the sister. Never just the pawn.

And now, I am no longer just his.

We enter the ballroom, and for once, I don’t walk a step behind him. I walk beside him, knowing that they stare and whisper.

This is what it was all for—not vengeance or legacy but freedom—freedom to live my life on my terms. I run the family foundation, and I love it. Running the non-profit is my passion.

When I talk to donors, I don’t play coy. I don’t soften my voice when I speak to the press. I talk about rebuilding, expanding the shelter, and putting power in the hands of women and children who never had it.

I speak like a woman who’s been through fire and learned how to command her own damn throne .

When Vukan stands beside me, silent and unwavering, I know: he didn’t make me strong. He just saw it before I did.

And now the whole world will too. Peace doesn’t feel like I thought it would. It’s not soft, and it’s not the still quiet we’ve known. It’s tense, sharp, focused, and at times, restless. It’s like a battlefield that hasn’t decided whether the war is truly over.

Vukan, beside me, is everything.

We step out together—his hand in mine. Our enemies are gone, and our allies are always watching.

We walk into the Borrelli Foundation’s annual benefit like we didn’t nearly burn the city to the ground to get here.

People stare. Whisper. Some bow their heads. Some avert their eyes. And that’s when I realize—they don’t see a couple.

They see a kingdom.

We speak to donors, shake hands with billionaires, and smile for photographs that will end up in headlines I’ll never read.

And the whole time, I don’t let go of him. Not once.

He’s mine.

Vukan

She moves like a woman who owns her place at my side—not because I put her there, but because she built it with her bare hands, sassy mouth, fierce independence, and grit.

I walk beside her like I finally understand what it means to lead with someone, not over them.

We speak to donors, shake hands with ghosts, and smile for photographs that will end up in headlines I’ll never read.

And the whole time, I don’t let go of her.

Not once.

Because this? This is our coronation.

And she’s the only crown I’ll ever wear.

If love made me slow .

If Bianca made me human.

They’re right.

But what they don’t understand is?—

She didn’t make me weaker. She made me fierce. Because now? I have something to lose. And that changes everything.

I pour myself a drink. Watch the lights blink across the skyline. And start making a list. One by one, I will remind them why I wear the crown.

And why she stands beside me—not behind.

Bianca is unapologetically mine.