Chapter 5 - Shadows of the Past
The news of Vincent Moretti’s planned appearance at the Chicago Commerce Gala spread through the city’s underground corridors like wildfire.
For six months, Vincent had avoided public social gatherings, focusing entirely on expanding his legal corporate holdings. His sudden decision to attend—and rumors that he was bringing an unidentified female guest—had sent the Five Families into a frenzy of speculation.
In a cigar lounge in South Chicago, Marco Falcone—a ruthless, silver-haired Don in his late fifties—sat across from his chief enforcer, staring at a glass of cognac.
“Is Reed secure?” Falcone rasped, his voice raspy from decades of heavy smoking.
“Reed called thirty minutes ago from his private line,” the enforcer reported. “He confirmed he has the updated Moretti shipping logs. He’s meeting our team at Terminal 4 on Thursday at midnight as planned.”
Falcone sneered, swirling his drink. “Good. The fool thinks he’s getting three million and a new life in South America. Once we secure those shipping logs and take out Moretti’s routes, eliminate Reed. Leave his body in the river.”
“And what about Moretti’s secretary? The blond girl Reed was sleeping with?”
Falcone scoffed disdainfully. “She’s a nobody. A naive corporate clerk. If she gets in the way, eliminate her too. Tonight at the Drake Hotel, I want our eyes on Moretti. I want to see how calm he looks forty-eight hours before his empire falls apart.”
Meanwhile, at the Moretti estate, the grand master suite was transformed into a bustling sanctuary of luxury.
Three top fashion stylists from Paris, brought in under strict non-disclosure agreements by Vincent’s security team, were putting the finishing touches on Clara’s ensemble.
Clara stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at her reflection in utter disbelief.
She wore a custom-tailored velvet gown in a deep, regal emerald green. The fabric clung elegantly to her slender frame, expertly cut to accommodate her subtle, early pregnancy without causing discomfort. The neckline was a soft off-the-shoulder cut, revealing her pale, graceful collarbone, adorned with a breathtaking vintage diamond necklace from the Moretti family vault—a piece worth millions.
Her blond hair was styled in soft, cascading waves over one shoulder, her makeup immaculate, hiding every trace of fatigue.
She didn't look like a terrified secretary anymore. She looked like a Queen.
The double doors opened, and Vincent stepped into the room wearing a bespoke black tuxedo with a dark emerald silk pocket square matching her dress.
The stylists quickly bowed and exited the room, closing the heavy doors behind them.
Vincent stopped in his tracks. His storm-grey eyes swept over her from head to toe, holding a look of raw, breathless awe that made Clara’s cheeks flush a delicate pink.
He walked toward her slowly, his heavy steps silent on the thick Persian rug.
“You are stunning, Clara,” Vincent said, his voice thick with unadulterated admiration.
“I feel like I’m wearing a suit of armor,” she admitted softly, reaching up to touch the heavy diamond necklace around her neck. “Vincent... this necklace... it’s the Moretti crest.”
“It belonged to my grandmother,” Vincent said, stepping behind her in the mirror. He placed his large hands gently on her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest. “She wore it when my grandfather secured control of the city fifty years ago. It has only ever been worn by the Matriarch of this family.”
Clara looked at his reflection in the mirror, her breath catching in her throat. “Vincent... putting this on me in public... it’s not just protection. You’re telling the entire underworld that I am your wife in all but name.”
“I am telling them the truth,” Vincent murmured into her ear, his lips brushing against her soft skin, sending shivers down her spine. “You have been the heart of my life for four years, Clara. Tonight, I simply make it official.”
He turned her around in his arms, looking down into her shining eyes.
“Are you ready?” he asked softly.
May you like
Clara took a deep, steadying breath. She looked at this powerful, terrifying, deeply loving man who had pulled her from the depths of despair and built a fortress around her soul. She reached up, gently smoothing the lapel of his tuxedo.
“With you?” Clara smiled, her voice steady and clear. “I’m ready for anything.”
