Chapter 10 - The Sovereign Heart
Six months later, the Long Island estate had been completely transformed.
The shattered glass had been replaced with sunlit French doors that opened onto sprawling floral gardens. The dark, intimidating security perimeter remained, but the oppressive, cold atmosphere inside the mansion was entirely gone.
Today, the grand ballroom of the Russo estate was filled with light, music, and laughter.
Over two hundred guests filled the room—high-ranking associates, shipping executives, local dignitaries, and house staff. Frankie Russo was gone, permanently exiled overseas after losing his bid for power, and the family board had unanimously confirmed Dominic as the permanent, absolute head of the Russo empire.
Standing near the altar at the head of the ballroom, Dominic waited.
He looked striking in a custom black tuxedo, his dark hair neatly styled, his eyes fixed on the double oak doors at the back of the room. He was nervous—a sight no man in New York had ever witnessed.
The doors swung open.
Leo, dressed in a tiny matching tuxedo, walked down the aisle first, carrying a velvet ring pillow with a proud, beaming smile on his face.
Behind him came Beatrice.
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom as Bea stepped into the light.
She wore a breathtaking white silk gown that hugged her soft, beautiful curves, expanding into a modest, elegant train behind her. Her dark curls fell in soft, glossy ringlets over her shoulders, and her face—free of all self-doubt and fear—was radiant with pure, unadulterated happiness.
She no longer shrank. She no longer made herself invisible. She walked down the aisle taking up space, holding her head high, the queen of the Russo empire in every sense of the word.
Dominic’s breath caught in his throat as she reached him. He offered his hand, taking hers in his large palm, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles.
“You take my breath away, Beatrice,” he whispered for her ears only.
“You don't look so bad yourself, Mr. Russo,” she teased softly, her eyes shining with warmth.
The ceremony was brief, powerful, and binding. When the priest announced them husband and wife, Dominic didn't wait for the formal prompt. He pulled Bea into his arms and kissed her deeply, sweeping her off her feet as the entire ballroom erupted into thunderous applause.
Later that evening, long after the guests had departed and the last notes of music had faded from the ballroom, the mansion settled into a quiet, peaceful twilight.
Leo was fast asleep in his bedroom, exhausted from a day of excitement.
Bea walked down the marble staircase into the main kitchen, barefoot, wearing a soft white silk robe over her nightgown. She reached for a small saucepan, placing it over the blue flame of the stove to warm a cup of milk.
As the quiet music played from her phone on the counter, she began to sway softly. Her hips moved freely, her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders, a quiet, blissful smile on her lips as she moved beneath the stove light.
She heard soft, heavy footsteps behind her.
She didn't stop dancing.
Dominic stepped into the kitchen, shedding his tuxedo jacket and loosening his black tie. He walked up behind her, his large arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest.
He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching her reflection in the dark window pane.
“Still dancing at two in the morning, Mrs. Russo?” he whispered, his deep voice vibrating against her back.
Bea leaned her head back against his shoulder, her hands resting over his on her waist.
“I was waiting for you,” she smiled softly, turning in his arms to wrap her hands around his neck. “I’m always waiting for you.”
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Dominic looked down at his wife—the woman who had healed his son, saved his soul, and claimed his heart. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a slow, sweet kiss that promised a lifetime of safety, love, and devotion.
Outside, a gentle spring rain washed over the Long Island estate, but inside the white marble kitchen, the melody of their quiet, private world played on, unbroken and eternal.
