Chapter 85 Final Moves

• Amara’s heels clicked sharply on the marble floors of the villa as she walked back into the war room, her robe hanging loose over bruised skin still warm from Lucien’s worship. Smoke clung to her hair, and the scent of blood still faintly kissed her fingertips. The war table was cleared now—no more scattered files, no mess. Just a list. The final list.
• Rafael was dead. His men scattered. His empire, the one that once burned hers to the ground, was now ash beneath her stilettos. But that didn’t mean it was over. No, the game had just shifted.
• Lucien entered a moment later, the bruises from last night’s war and passion like medals on his skin. He held a cup of coffee in one hand, black, hot, exactly how she liked it.