Catalina stands in front of the grave, the wind pulling at loose strands of her hair.

The headstone is plain, just a name carved into granite. No flowers. No visitors. No grieving widow or loyal friends. Just earth and stone and a name that no longer means anything to her.

Salvi Di Angelo is gone and she feels nothing. No sorrow, no regret, not even the flicker of old resentment.

He wanted to sell her and Frankie off. First for money, then to solidify alliances, then to save his own skin. A daughter was never a daughter to him—only transaction.

She glances sideways, her gaze softening as it lands on Kael.

He stands a few steps away, watching her with his posture steady—not intruding. He's fully healed now, his recovery behind them. He moves without hesitation, his strength restored, the sharpness back in his eyes.

It's strange, how it all turned out. Kael once struck a deal with Salvi for her. And now he's here, not bound by a deal, but because he wants to be.

"I'm glad he's gone," Catalina mutters.

Despite the 'alliance,' Salvi never forgot the day Kael shoved a gun to his head—forced him to give up Catalina and pull Frankie off the market. It wasn't just business. It was disgrace. A power play he couldn't stomach. So when Mirkov came knocking, Salvi saw his opening. He conspired with Mirkov to give him access inside Pont-Ciel, choosing profit and vengeance over blood. Their business dealings opened the gates for an ambush and nearly got Kael and his family killed.

Then, when Frankie was taken, Salvi closed down the gates and locked himself inside, too scared to get caught in the crossfire. He didn't care about loyalty. He didn't care about family. Just his own skin.

It was an obvious decision—Aires had no choice but to take over.

Kael reaches for Catalina's hand and intertwines their fingers together. He doesn't speak, and he doesn't need to. His presence, solid and unshakable beside her, and his touch, is enough.

She glances at the grave one last time. There's no goodbye in her head, just a quiet sense of something closing.

They turn, and Kael leads her back to the car.

The Di Angelo estate thrums with life as they arrive. It's Aires' official induction as the Di Angelo leader—a coronation dressed in gold. Golden lights spill across the manicured lawns, laughter curls through the air like smoke, glasses clink in time with the low hum of a string quartet playing somewhere beyond the hedges. Inside, the mansion rises like a cathedral to wealth and quiet violence: velvet drapes heavy as nightfall, crystal chandeliers glittering overhead, marble floors polished to a mirror's cruel gleam. Men in tailored suits, their faces carved with ambition, turn at the first whisper of movement. Women draped in silk and diamonds glance over their shoulders, smiles painted wide and hollow.

But then the air shifts as they step inside.

The Fourth—and the Fifth—have arrived.

Samara's PR worked masterfully. Even after the carnage, after the city had trembled beneath Cirillo's last desperate blow, Kael Kincaid walks untouched. The ruler of San Helena still stands. And so the room bends without a word—heads dip, shoulders stiffen, conversations falter mid-laugh, as if the mere act of drawing breath around him demands permission.

Catalina feels it ripple through the crowd, a shiver of tension cutting through silk and champagne. Her chin lifts a fraction higher, spine straightening on instinct. For the first time, in this house, the Di Angelos—her blood—look at her with respect. But Catalina knows better. While there is respect, it's also fear dressed in finery, and it wraps around her like a noose lined in pearls.

That fear keeps the Fourth's empire alive.

They move as one through the banquet hall. Jae flanks them like a wolf in a dark suit, his piercings shining. Chuck and Polo are behind, Samara tucked easily into Polo's arm, her blood-red lips curved in a knowing smile.

At the center of it all waits Aires, twenty-four years old, a boy's grin carved into a man's spine, newly crowned in this brutal kingdom. He raises his glass as they approach, shoulders squaring beneath the weight of his family's throne.

"Cata," Aires murmurs, pulling Catalina into a swift, careful embrace. His gaze shifts to Kael, bowing his head just enough to mark the shift of power. "Glad you could make it. Fourth." Then he looks at Jae. "Fifth."

Jae lifts his chin.

"Aires." Kael's voice is soft steel, a quiet that humbles the room. "Congratulations."

Aires smiles. "Thank you. Didn't think you'd come down from your throne so quickly after..."

The faintest ghost of a smile touches Kael's lips—the kind that never quite softens, only sharpens. "I make exceptions when it matters."

Catalina's brother—the Di Angelo leader—exhales through his nose, a low, almost grudging laugh under his breath. "Guess we both survived more than we should've." His gaze slides to Catalina, the tension easing as a wry grin appears. "Funny how the house feels lighter without him, no?"

Catalina's lips curve. "Yes," she says simply. "It does."

Matias approaches with a greeting to the Fourth and Fifth, giving Catalina a small smile that she returns. Their mother lingers just behind, dipping her head in acknowledgment, eyes cool, lips pressed into a thin line.

Once, Raphaella Di Angelo had been the picture of a queen: the perfect blonde coiffed to flawlessness, posture regal, smile polished to a diamond-hard sheen. Now, in the harsher light, the cracks show. The years cling to her like silk worn thin at the seams, and without Salvi at her side, without the weight of a husband's shadow to amplify her presence, she seems smaller somehow—like a figure left in the wrong century, clinging to a throne no longer hers.

Catalina looks away. "How's Frankie?"

The grin on her brother's face slips. Guilt and sorrow cross his face. "She's...healing."

Catalina's chest pulls tight.

Her husband's gaze lingers on Aires, steady and unreadable. "You honored the alliance."

Aires holds his eye. "I know where to stand. I'm a man of my word."

A beat. Then Kael gives a faint nod—approval without flourish. "Your honor will serve you well. It will do this family good."

Aires inclines his head, shoulders straightening under the weight of that rare acknowledgment.

"Enjoy the party." Aires kisses her cheek. "I need to entertain more guests. Fourth. Fifth."

Kael shifts, fingers brushing Catalina's back, signaling their move. The crowd ripples, voices dipping as they pass, parting like the red sea.

But later, when the room softens into a blur of music and murmured politics, Catalina slips away. Her heels click over marble and down the polished halls, the laughter and glitter fading behind thick walls. She finds Frankie in one of the smaller salons, curled into a velvet settee, knees drawn to her chest, a blanket clutched tight around trembling shoulders. Her little sister's eyes are glassy, fixed on the dark windowpane as if the night beyond still holds her hostage. She is too still, too small, and Catalina feels the crack of her own heart at the sight.

She kneels beside her, fingers gentle as they push damp hair from Frankie's pale face.

"Hey," Catalina whispers, voice thick with the ache she's been holding back all night. "You hungry? There's cake, and those terrible little finger sandwiches you love."

Frankie's lashes flutter, the faintest ghost of a smile touching the corners of her mouth—but her arms only tighten around herself.

Oh, Frankie.

Catalina slips onto the couch beside her, gathering Frankie into her arms. "You're safe," she breathes into her sister's hair, rocking her gently. "You're home. No one else is going to touch you. Aires will make sure of it."

For a moment, Frankie presses her face into Catalina's shoulder, muffling the tiny, broken sob that escapes. "I didn't want to do it," she chokes. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. I was so scared, Cata...I was so scared."

"I know," Catalina whispers, her voice splintering at the edges. "I know. It's over now. You're safe, you hear me? You're home."

Frankie clings tighter, shaking in her arms, and Catalina wraps her up as if she can shield her from the memory, from the ruin, from the part of the world that forced a gun into a child's hands, that put bombs on a child's body and called it strategy.

Tired, Frankie tells her she wants to rest. Catalina tucks her sister into bed with a kiss on her forehead and a promise to visit again soon.

When Catalina slips back into the banquet hall, the noise seems duller, the laughter now a bit more muted, the gold of the chandeliers too blinding. She moves through the sea of faces, feeling the hum of their curiosity—the glances cast her way, the quiet calculations. But they don't matter.

Kael stands at the far end of the room, flanked by Jae, Chuck, Polo, and Samara.

Her family.

The last time she was in this house, a Di Angelo, unmarried, her nerves were frozen, her pulse thrumming in terror. Fearful of the power he held over her, not just with his hands, but with his very presence.

But now, as Catalina's eyes fall on Kael again, she raises her head and squares her shoulders. Her heart no longer trembles with fear—it steadies with quiet resolve. She no longer cowers before him; she belongs at his side, untouchable in a way she never imagined for herself.

Kael doesn't speak when she reaches him. He just exhales slowly, the corner of his mouth tipping in something that isn't quite a smile, something softer, something only she will ever see. His hand brushes her lower back, grounding her, and for a moment, it's enough. Catalina leans into his touch.

Aires approaches again, glass in hand, the boy-king still riding the high of his ascent—though it dims as he nears her. "Frankie okay?" he murmurs, voice low, like he's afraid to ask.

Catalina turns to him, reading the guilt written in his posture, the way he won't meet her eyes. He carries the shame of what Salvi did, even if he was unaware.

"She will be," she answers quietly, offering him a soft, measured smile.

Aires swallows hard, nods once, then says, "Security's airtight now. Nobody gets in or out without my say." He hesitates, then adds, "What Salvi let happen...what he did to hurt our family—I won't make the same mistakes. I'll protect her. I have the power now, the resources, the title, the name."

Catalina's expression softens. "I know you will," she says. "You're not him." She rests a hand briefly on his arm, steady and warm. "Aires, you're leader now. You'll make choices that cost you. Sometimes, the right thing won't feel right at all. But no matter how dark it gets, don't trade blood for power, for profit, for vengeance. Don't forget who you are. In this world, loyalties shift. People die for less than a name. But power isn't worth anything if it costs you your soul."

Her little brother exhales, the edge in him easing. "Spoken like a true queen."

Catalina smiles. "And you still smell like a dirty old sock. Go. Enjoy your party."

He laughs, kisses her cheek, and walks away a little lighter.

They slip out without ceremony. Outside, the air is cool against Catalina's skin, the night thick with the smell of grass and distant sea. Inside the car, Kael's fingers find hers, lacing through them as the door clicks shut and the engine hums to life.

"Francesca will heal," Kael murmurs, voice rough with the edge he's still learning to soften for her.

Catalina turns to him, a small, tired smile breaking across her face. "I know."

Jae shifts in the front seat. "I shouldn't have aimed at her," he says, voice low, like the weight of it hasn't left his chest. "I was trying to protect you. But still...I see her face when I close my eyes."

"It wasn't your choice."

Jae stares straight ahead. "Doesn't make it easier to live with."

"He'll answer for it," Kael says. Promises.

Cirillo.

As the Di Angelo estate fades in the rearview, Catalina leans her head against the window, watching the gold lights blur into the dark.

They return home.

*

Catalina stirs awake in the dim bedroom, the faint click of the door pulling her from sleep. She blinks into the dark, heart already thudding as the shape of Kael moves through the room.

He says nothing as he undresses—jacket first, heavy and smelling faintly of cold air and something darker. His shirt follows, then the belt, the sound of it sliding free loud in the stillness.

Catalina pushes herself up on the pillows. "Kael?" she whispers, voice rough with sleep.

He doesn't answer. He kneels onto the bed, dipping the mattress under his weight, and rests his forearms on either side of her, eyes glinting faintly in the dark. Catalina's breath catches at the rawness in his face—something brittle under the exhaustion. Her fingers lift automatically, brushing back the hair damp at his temples.

"Where were you?" she whispers, even if she already knows the answer.

Kael exhales through his nose, eyes closing briefly. He touches her, rough palms spanning the curve of her waist, sliding up...as if to reassure himself she's still here. Still his.

"He said love turned me weak," Kael tells her. "But I have never been more brutal."

Catalina's breath catches.

Psychotic. Deranged. Brutal.

In love.

"And you," he murmurs hoarsely, "you were the only thing that kept me steady. Are. I'm not done with him yet."

For all that fucker did to Frankie and to Kael and to her family, she's glad her husband is not done yet—as twisted as that makes her sound.

Kael's mouth finds her neck—not demanding, not hurried. Just there, breathing her in like a man crawling home from a war. Catalina's hands slide into his hair, fingers slipping through the strands as his body folds over hers, heavy and trembling.

Her voice wavers. "You're shaking."

Kael lets out a broken breath against her throat. "I needed to see you," he rasps. "Needed to remind myself you're still here."

Her heart thunders. "I'm here," she whispers, cradling his face in her hands. "Kael. I'm here."

He presses his forehead to hers, one hand slipping instinctively to her belly. The touch jolts her—his palm wide and warm, splayed protectively over the slight swell. "Tell me you love me."

Her chest clenches painfully, tears pricking her eyes as she folds her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "You know it's not enough."

"Tell me anyway."

She cups his face. Whispers, "I love you, Kael."

Kael pulls her into his lap, wrapping her in his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck like he's desperate to crawl inside her skin and disappear. His fingers tremble on her back, on her hair, on the bare skin at her waist—those same fingers that just broke a man, now shaking just to hold her.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs raggedly against her skin. "For all of it. For what this life has made me. For what you had—have to endure." His lips brush her ear, and cinch around her, almost crushing, as if some part of him is terrified she'll slip through his grasp. "But listen to me, Catalina," his voice drops, rough and absolute, "I will burn this world to ash. I will tear it apart with my bare hands before I let anything—anyone—come for you or our child again."

A small, aching sound escapes her throat as she cups his face, pressing kisses along his jaw, his cheeks, his temple, the hollow of his throat. "I swear to you," he whispers, raw and haunted, "I'll become the monster they think I am. I'll become their reckoning, their ruin—whatever it takes to keep you and our child safe."

Then his mouth finds hers, slow and consuming, a kiss more hunger and more relief. She sighs into him, wrapping her legs around his waist, feeling the tremble in his chest when he lowers his forehead to hers again.

"Jaan," he breathes softly, the word curling around her heart like a brand, like a promise. "Meri jaan."

She smiles through the sting in her eyes, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Show me what that means."

His hand cups her belly again, his lips brushing hers like a prayer.

Then in the hush of the bedroom, in the aftershock of violence, he does.

*

#ReignTheFourthWP