Page 148

I watch them together—my wife, exhausted, radiant and triumphant, and my son, tiny, red and screaming at the world he’s just entered. I reach down and carefully lift Vance from Cora’s chest. At six pounds four ounces, he’s so small, yet heavier than anything I’ve ever held. I wrap him in the blue blanket the nurse has handed me, tucking it around him carefully. His screaming stops as his tiny body relaxes against my chest, and he blinks up at me with unfocused eyes.

Turning away from the bed, I walk toward the window. The private suite overlooks the city. My city. The empire I’m building from nothing, brick by bloody brick. The lights twinkle below, a constellation of power, wealth, and influence. Beneath us are the buildings I own and the streets I will one day control. And now I have an heir to pass it to, a son who will carry my name into the future.

I hold Vance up slightly, turning him to face the glass, to see the world waiting for him below. His head lolls slightly, too heavy for his neck muscles, but his eyes seem to track the lights and the vast expanse of what will one day be his.

“Look at that,” I croon, my voice low and gruff, meant only for him. “Look at all of it. Every light. Every building. Every street. By the time you’re grown, most of it will be mine. This whole fucking city will bow to you because you’re an Ashford. You’ll never want for anything. You’ll never beg. You’ll take what’s yours, just like I did. You’ll be ruthless. You’ll be strong. And one day, Vance, this will all be yours.”

He makes a small sound, a coo or a sigh, his tiny mouth working, and I feel my lips twitch. I turn back to the bed to find Cora watching me, her eyes heavy with fatigue but soft with love and adoration. It’s the same look she’s given me since the first time I claimed her, since she surrendered herself to my ownership. She looks wrecked—her hair a mess, face pale, and dark circles under her eyes—but she’s never been more beautiful.

I walk back to her side and settle Vance carefully on her chest again, keeping one hand on him, my palm spanning his tiny back. “This will all be yours,” I repeat, using my free hand to tuck Cora’s sweat-matted hair behind her ear. “One day, it will belong to you and your brothers.”

Cora’s eyes widen slightly, her gaze flicking up to mine. “Brothers?”

I look down at her, unable to deny what she’s just endured. She’s given me a son. She’s proven she can carry my seed, grow my child, bring him into the world through blood, pain, and sheer fucking will. And now that I know what she’s capable of—now that I’ve seen her strength and absolute commitment to giving me what I want—I want more. I need more.

I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. My lips linger against her damp skin, and I breathe in the saltiness of her sweat and the sweet floral scent that I’d recognize blindfolded in a crowd of thousands. “When you heal,” I whisper, my voice a dark promise beneath her ear, low enough that only she can hear, “I’m going to fill you again. And then again. I’m going to keep you swollen and round with our children until you’ve filled every room in our home with a son for me.”

She shivers, despite her exhaustion. She should be horrified. I half expect her to tell me I’m insane, that she’s done, and that one child is enough. She gave birth twenty minutes ago. Her body is still torn and bleeding, and I’m already planning to fill her fertile womb with more of my seed. My thoughts are flooded with images of her breasts, still heavy with milk, as her belly grows for me again.

Instead, she smiles. That slow, trusting, completely surrendered smile that owns me more than I’ll ever admit. The smile that says she’s mine, completely and irrevocably, in ways that go beyond words. “Yes, Daddy,” she breathes.

I straighten, my hands still resting on her belly and on Vance as the doctor works to stitch her up and clean the mess of birth off her. I stand there, immovable: my wife and my child beneath my hands, and I feel more powerful than I have in my entire life.

It doesn’t take long after the nurses and doctors leave for Cora to drift into a deep, knackered sleep. From my seat beside the window, I watch over her as I cradle Vance in my arms. His breathing is slow and steady against my chest, oblivious to the weight of the name he’ll one day carry.

I turn my attention to the floor-to-ceiling glass. The city stretches beneath us in a sea of steel and light, every skyscraper a monument to someone’s ambition and every street another battlefield waiting to be won. Men spend lifetimes chasing power. They barter and beg for it.

Not me. I’m building mine with blood, sacrifice, and sheer fucking will.

My gaze drifts from the city to the sleeping woman in the hospital bed and the boy in my arms before returning to the skyline beyond the panes. Empires aren’t measured by balance sheets or properties; they’re measured by legacy.

A slow smile curves across my mouth, cold, predatory, and certain.

And my legacy is only the beginning.

THE END