Chapter 7 - The City at His Feet
One week later.
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel in Downtown Chicago was filled with two hundred men in tailored dark suits, high-ranking city officials, and international investors.
The news of Julian Vance’s death and the total purge of his faction had sent shockwaves through the Midwest underground. The Black Syndicate was no longer a divided house. It was a monolith ruled by one man.
Roman Black sat at the head of a long mahogany table at the front of the room, wearing a bespoke charcoal suit that concealed the fresh bandages wrapped around his torso. His expression was cold, imperious, and absolute.
Beside him sat a high-ranking police commander and two prominent city council members, signing legal documents that transferred ownership of the Chicago riverfront developments back to Black Enterprises.
The double doors at the back of the ballroom opened.
Every man in the room turned to look.
Ava Monroe stepped into the room.
She wore a breathtaking emerald-green silk dress that hugged her curves gracefully, her dark hair styled in soft waves over her shoulders, wearing a simple pair of diamond earrings Roman had sent to her room an hour before.
She didn't look like a poor waitress from South Chicago anymore. She looked like royalty.
Walking beside her, holding her hand proudly, was little Sophie, wearing a matching navy dress with a white bow in her hair.
The room fell into an absolute, respectful silence as Ava walked down the long central aisle toward the head table. The hardened mobsters, men who commanded millions and ruled through fear, bowed their heads slightly as she passed.
They all knew who she was. She was the woman who had pulled Roman Black out of his own blood, held off Julian Vance with a flare gun, and saved the heir to the family.
Roman stood up from his chair. The coldness on his face melted completely, replaced by an expression of unadulterated, open devotion.
He walked down the steps of the dais, meeting Ava halfway down the aisle.
He took her hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a slow, tender kiss against her knuckles.
"You look stunning, Ava," Roman murmured softly, his gray eyes locking onto hers.
"You look surprisingly functional for a man who tore his abdominal wall seven days ago," Ava whispered back, a teasing smile touching her lips.
Roman smiled—a genuine, warm smile that astonished every man in the ballroom who had never seen the boss express joy in five years.
He turned to face the crowded room, keeping his arm wrapped securely around Ava’s waist, pulling her close against his side.
"Gentlemen," Roman’s voice echoed clearly through the hall. "This is Ava Monroe. She is the future of this family. Anyone who does not show her the exact same loyalty and respect they show me... will answer to me personally."
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A thunderous applause broke out across the ballroom.
Ava looked up at Roman, feeling a warm, deep sense of belonging fill her chest. She wasn't hiding behind a diner counter anymore. She was standing beside the most powerful man in the city, safe, cherished, and loved.
