Chapter 20

The Devil's Throne

The council chamber felt different this time around. It wasn’t the dim, whispering space I used to dread.

Now, it’s mine.

The seat where Lucien once held court, made of Blackwood and steel with gold accents, now displayed a small emblem shaped like a flame.

That’s the Marco symbol. It represents everything I’ve built from ashes.

As I stepped forward in a deep navy suit, sharp as armor, every pair of eyes in the room turned to me. Not with disbelief or mockery, but with acknowledgment.

I took my seat slowly, my posture radiating both poise and determination.

Councilman Renaldi rose to address the room. “By a majority vote, the Morattir seat is reassigned, effective immediately. Claire Marco Cross is granted full authority under the council charter.”

He nodded in my direction. “The floor is yours.”

I stood up.

You all knew Lucien was a monster. Yet, you let him rule because he made you rich and kept you safe.

A murmur rippled through the chamber.

I won’t rule like that. There will be structure, order. If you deal in blood, fine, but not in innocence. Not in children. Not in chaos.

I paused for effect.

From now on, the Morattie network belongs to me, and it will run on my terms.

I sat back down, no hesitation, no second thoughts.

Councilwoman Feya, who had been quiet until now, leaned in slightly. “What’s the first order of business?”

I smiled faintly.

Cleaning house.

Later that night, in the back of the estate, the old guard of the Cross network gathered in the war room: Nico, Vera, Damian, and three other regional heads who’d flown in just after the vote.

I stood at the center, feeling the weight of it all.

Lucien’s lieutenants those still loyal to his chaos had already been dealt with. Most exiled, a few... handled.

Now came the harder part: stability.

You can’t build a new empire on violence alone. It needs trust, vision, fear balanced with purpose.

I laid out a restructuring plan that was so detailed, even Damian was silent, just staring.

“It’s bold,” Vera said softly.

“It’s necessary,” I replied. “If we want to last, we can’t act like rabid dogs.”

Nico grinned, “Our queen has claws and spreadsheets.”

I turned to Damian. He hadn’t said much.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked.

He tilted his head. “I’m just watching something that doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

I froze. What do you mean?

“You built this,” he said, meeting my gaze. “I lit the match, but you’re the fire.”

Something in me tightened.

I didn’t do this to outshine you.

“You didn’t have to. It happened the moment you made the council kneel.”

I looked away, my heart caught between pride and fear. Because when power shifts, loyalty often frays.

But that fear was nothing compared to what came next.

Later that evening, I was in the study, sifting through an encrypted box Marina had left behind, my mother’s final files. One entry caught my eye.

“Initial deal. Elena Marco and Damian Cross.”

My heart sank. I clicked it open. It was a contract.

Time-stamped three weeks before my father passed away.

“Damian Cross agrees to assist Elena Marco in her plan to remove Lucien Moretti from power. In exchange for the child’s protection and eventual marriage.”

My hands shook. Child. Me. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

It was a deal.

I stumbled back from the desk, my heart racing. Had Damian been planning this all along?

Was I just a pawn in this twisted game between devils?

I marched into the east wing where I found Damian sipping a glass of red wine.

He jumped up as soon as he saw me.

“You lied to me.”

“I never…”

“You made a deal with my mother. Before she died. You’ve been part of this from the start.”

His jaw tightened. “I did what I had to do. Elena knew Lucien wouldn’t stop. She wanted to protect you.”

So, she sold me to you?

“No, she trusted me. She believed I could raise you into what she couldn’t finish. She knew you’d need someone to teach you how to survive in this world.”

I shook my head, stunned.

I thought I’d fought my way up from nothing. But really, I was placed, positioned, groomed.

He stepped closer. “No one could make you into who you are now. You forged yourself.”

“Did you ever love me?”

That question hung heavy in the air. His voice cracked, low and raw.

“From the moment you stood in front of me at that wedding and didn’t flinch.”

Tears filled my eyes. But you still lied.

He reached for me, and I backed away.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” I whispered. “That I felt loved by the devil or…that I became one.”

That night, sleep eluded me. I found myself at my mother’s piano, fingers hovering over the keys.

I wasn’t playing; I was remembering. Remembering the innocence. The night it shattered. All the sacrifices. All the betrayals.

Every truth I never asked for but carried anyway. And maybe, in the end, that’s what power really was. Not dominance, but bearing an unbearable weight and refusing to break.

In a cold cell, Lucien smiled through cracked lips. He heard the distant music. He knew what was coming.

Not his execution. But her coronation.

And even in death, he would never stop haunting her.