Chapter 7: The Aftermath
The news exploded overnight.
**"BILLIONAIRE MARCUS BLACKWELL ARRESTED AT OWN CHARITY GALA"**
**"BLACKWELL EMPIRE EXPOSED: MONEY LAUNDERING, MURDER, AND LIES"**
**"WIFE SERA LANGFORD: VICTIM OR MASTERMIND?"**
I watched the headlines scroll across my phone from Dante's penthouse. He'd insisted I stay there after the gala—"until we know Marcus's people won't come for you."
I didn't argue. My own house was now a crime scene.
Dante's penthouse was nothing like I expected. No gothic excess. No skulls or leather. Just clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and bookshelves stuffed with history and philosophy. A baby grand piano sat in the corner.
"You play?" I asked, surprised.
He glanced up from his phone. "When I need to think."
It was strange—this domesticity. Sitting in his living room in borrowed clothes (his shirt, too big, smelling of cedar), drinking coffee he'd made himself. The most feared man on the East Coast, and he ground his own beans.
"Marcus posted bail," Dante said, pulling me from my thoughts.
My blood went cold. "Already?"
"The Volkovs are backing him. But it won't last." He set his phone down and looked at me. Really looked. "The forensic accountants finished going through everything. Once the feds see the full picture, bail will be revoked within forty-eight hours."
"And Vivian?"
"Still in custody. Her lawyer's trying to cut a deal—she'll testify against Marcus in exchange for reduced charges." A ghost of a smile. "She's already throwing him under the bus."
Good. Let them devour each other.
But I knew Marcus wouldn't go quietly. In my last life, he'd killed to protect his secrets. Now, cornered and humiliated, he'd be more dangerous than ever.
"Dante," I said carefully. "Marcus knows it was me. He'll—"
"He won't touch you." Dante's voice was absolute. Final. Like he was stating a law of physics.
"You can't guarantee—"
"Sera." He stood, crossing the room in two strides, and stopped in front of me. This close, I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "I've waited three years for this. Three years of watching that man walk free while my brother rotted in the ground. Do you think I'd let anything happen to the woman who finally gave me justice?"
My throat tightened. "Is that all I am? A means to an end?"
Something shifted in his eyes. The hardness softened—just a fraction. His hand rose, hovering near my face without quite touching.
"No," he said quietly. "You stopped being that the moment you walked into my bar with fire in your eyes and told me you'd come from the future."
My heart hammered. "You believed me? Even then?"
"I believed you were either insane or extraordinary. And you had the flash drive to prove which one."
A laugh escaped me—shaky, unexpected. "Charming."
His mouth curved. "I've been told."
Before I could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his expression went granite-cold in an instant.
"What?" he answered.
I watched his jaw clench. His free hand curled into a fist at his side. When he hung up, his eyes were black with rage.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Marcus broke into your father's company offices. Took every original document, every contract with his name on it." Dante's voice was tight, controlled. "He's trying to destroy evidence."
My stomach dropped—then hardened into steel.
"He doesn't know about the copies," I said slowly.
Dante looked at me.
"I copied everything. Every file, every contract, every signature. They're in a safety deposit box under my mother's maiden name." I met his gaze. "Marcus can burn every original document he wants. It won't matter."
Dante stared at me for a long moment.
Then: "Marry me."
I blinked. "What?"
"Not now. When this is over." He wasn't smiling. He was dead serious. "Marry me, Sera."
---
**"BILLIONAIRE MARCUS BLACKWELL ARRESTED AT OWN CHARITY GALA"**
**"BLACKWELL EMPIRE EXPOSED: MONEY LAUNDERING, MURDER, AND LIES"**
**"WIFE SERA LANGFORD: VICTIM OR MASTERMIND?"**
I watched the headlines scroll across my phone from Dante's penthouse. He'd insisted I stay there after the gala—"until we know Marcus's people won't come for you."
I didn't argue. My own house was now a crime scene.
Dante's penthouse was nothing like I expected. No gothic excess. No skulls or leather. Just clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and bookshelves stuffed with history and philosophy. A baby grand piano sat in the corner.
"You play?" I asked, surprised.
He glanced up from his phone. "When I need to think."
It was strange—this domesticity. Sitting in his living room in borrowed clothes (his shirt, too big, smelling of cedar), drinking coffee he'd made himself. The most feared man on the East Coast, and he ground his own beans.
"Marcus posted bail," Dante said, pulling me from my thoughts.
My blood went cold. "Already?"
"The Volkovs are backing him. But it won't last." He set his phone down and looked at me. Really looked. "The forensic accountants finished going through everything. Once the feds see the full picture, bail will be revoked within forty-eight hours."
"And Vivian?"
"Still in custody. Her lawyer's trying to cut a deal—she'll testify against Marcus in exchange for reduced charges." A ghost of a smile. "She's already throwing him under the bus."
Good. Let them devour each other.
But I knew Marcus wouldn't go quietly. In my last life, he'd killed to protect his secrets. Now, cornered and humiliated, he'd be more dangerous than ever.
"Dante," I said carefully. "Marcus knows it was me. He'll—"
"He won't touch you." Dante's voice was absolute. Final. Like he was stating a law of physics.
"You can't guarantee—"
"Sera." He stood, crossing the room in two strides, and stopped in front of me. This close, I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "I've waited three years for this. Three years of watching that man walk free while my brother rotted in the ground. Do you think I'd let anything happen to the woman who finally gave me justice?"
My throat tightened. "Is that all I am? A means to an end?"
Something shifted in his eyes. The hardness softened—just a fraction. His hand rose, hovering near my face without quite touching.
"No," he said quietly. "You stopped being that the moment you walked into my bar with fire in your eyes and told me you'd come from the future."
My heart hammered. "You believed me? Even then?"
"I believed you were either insane or extraordinary. And you had the flash drive to prove which one."
A laugh escaped me—shaky, unexpected. "Charming."
His mouth curved. "I've been told."
Before I could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his expression went granite-cold in an instant.
"What?" he answered.
I watched his jaw clench. His free hand curled into a fist at his side. When he hung up, his eyes were black with rage.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Marcus broke into your father's company offices. Took every original document, every contract with his name on it." Dante's voice was tight, controlled. "He's trying to destroy evidence."
My stomach dropped—then hardened into steel.
"He doesn't know about the copies," I said slowly.
Dante looked at me.
"I copied everything. Every file, every contract, every signature. They're in a safety deposit box under my mother's maiden name." I met his gaze. "Marcus can burn every original document he wants. It won't matter."
Dante stared at me for a long moment.
Then: "Marry me."
I blinked. "What?"
"Not now. When this is over." He wasn't smiling. He was dead serious. "Marry me, Sera."
---