Chapter 10 - The Queen of Chicago
One year later.
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was filled with five hundred of the most powerful people in the Midwest. Governors, judges, CEOs, and the heads of every major Syndicate family sat at round tables draped in black silk and white roses.
At the center of the head table sat Dante Moretti.
He wore a custom black tuxedo, his dark hair neatly styled, looking every bit the uncontested king of Chicago. Beside him sat Matteo, now six years old, dressed in a tiny matching suit, happily showing his toy car to the mayor sitting next to him.
And beside Dante sat me.
I wore a sweeping emerald-green velvet gown that hugged my curves, adorned with a diamond necklace that caught the chandelier light like falling stars. The dress was cut slightly low in the back, proudly displaying the two pale, thin scars running down my shoulder—not as marks of trauma, but as symbols of the night I chose my destiny.
No one in that room looked at me like a waitress. No one looked through me like I was invisible.
To the city of Chicago, I was Elena Moretti—the woman who had tamed the most feared mob boss in the Midwest, the woman who ruled the Syndicate’s massive philanthropic foundation, and the undisputed Queen of the South Side.
Dante leaned over, his hand dropping beneath the silk tablecloth to rest warmly against my thigh.
"You're quiet tonight, mia regina," he murmured in my ear, his velvet voice making my pulse leap just as it had the first night we met.
"I was just thinking," I smiled, turning my head to look into those dark, incredible eyes that had trapped me a year ago. "About how I used to stand in the corner of rooms like this, pouring water glasses and praying no one noticed me."
Dante’s thumb stroked my thigh gently, a look of profound, unconditional devotion filling his dark gaze.
"And now?" he asked.
"And now," I said, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips in front of the entire city of Chicago, "I realized that being seen by you was the best thing that ever happened to me."
Matteo giggled beside us, tugging on my sleeve. "Elena! Papa! Look! They're bringing out the dessert!"
A massive, six-tiered wedding cake—celebrating our official marriage six months prior—was rolled out into the center of the dance floor, surrounded by sparkling sparklers and golden ribbon.
Dante took my hand, lacing his long fingers through mine, bringing my knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss.
"To the girl who saved my son," Dante whispered, his voice echoing with a love that would stand against any mob war, any threat, and any passing of time. "And to the woman who saved my heart."
I leaned my head against his shoulder, holding his hand tightly, watching the flash of the cameras and the smiles of our family.
May you like
I was no longer invisible. I was protected. I was feared.
I was home.
