Chapter 8 - The Strategy of the New Ward
The wedding did not take place in a cathedral with three thousand guests and photographers from the Chicago Tribune. It took place in the small, stone chapel behind St. Jude’s Parish on Tenth Street, the same church where Dominic’s mother had been buried twenty years earlier.
There were only six people in the pews: Rocco Miller, his wife, the old priest who had known the Costello family since the docks were made of timber, and young Arthur, who was wearing a small black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt that matched his father’s.
Fiona walked down the narrow aisle wearing a simple, knee-length cream silk dress, her only jewelry the small, thick gold band that had belonged to Dominic’s grandmother. She didn't look like a mob wife; she looked like a woman who had fought the dark and won her own terms.
“You’re entering a hazardous line of work, Mrs. Costello,” Rocco whispered to her after the service, his broken nose twisting into a warm, genuine smile as he handed her a glass of champagne in the churchyard. “The Tenth Street crew is a lot harder to manage than the trauma rotation at Northwestern.”
“The Tenth Street crew needs to learn how to wash their hands before they touch my kitchen counters, Rocco,” Fiona replied, her hazel eyes flashing with that same dangerous fire that had broken Marcus’s nose. “And if I see another one of your enforcers smoking under the awning near Arthur’s window, I’m going to use my trauma shears on his radio cables.”
Dominic came up behind her, his massive arms wrapping around her waist as he drew her back against his chest, his face dropping into her neck with a deep, content sigh that carried the whole weight of his relief.
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“The cars are ready, Fiona,” Dominic murmured. “Arthur wants to go to the pier to see the new cargo ships before the sun goes down.”
“The cargo ships can wait until he finishes his carrots, Dominic,” Fiona said, turning in his arms to lock her hands behind his neck, her blue eyes meeting his icy gaze with an absolute, beautiful finality. “We have a new schedule in this house. And the nurse is still in charge of the clock.”
