Chapter 15 - THE DON'S ONLY QUEEN
One year later.
The Cathedral of the Holy Cross was filled with light.
Not dark whispers.
Not armed guards behind the pillars.
The massive pipe organ resonated with a triumphant melody that echoed up into the vaulted ceiling.
Hundreds of people filled the pews.
City leaders, dockworkers, family friends, and allies who had chosen loyalty over fear.
At the front of the altar stood Dante Lombardi.
He wore a bespoke black tuxedo, his posture regal, his gaze steady on the heavy wooden doors at the back of the cathedral.
Beside him, Enzo stood as best man, wearing an ear-to-ear smile.
The music shifted into a breathtaking crescendo.
The heavy doors swung open.
The entire congregation rose to their feet.
Gemma Thorne walked down the aisle.
She wore an ivory lace gown with an eight-foot train that flowed behind her like water.
In her hands, she carried white calla lilies and pale blue hydrangeas.
Her veil was lifted, revealing eyes that shone with pure, radiant joy.
In her arms, or rather in the front pew beside Enzo’s wife, sat their four-month-old daughter, Sofia, wide-eyed and dressed in white satin.
Dante’s breath caught in his throat.
He had faced firing squads.
He had stared down federal prosecutors and rival armies without his pulse rising.
Yet watching this woman walk toward him brought tears to the corners of his eyes.
She reached the bottom of the altar steps.
Dante stepped down to meet her.
He took her small, gloved hand in his.
Her pulse beat steady against his fingers.
“You look breathtaking,” he whispered.
“You’re not late for your appointment, Mr. Lombardi,” she whispered back, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
“I will never be late for you,” he replied.
They turned toward the altar together.
The vows were spoken not out of political necessity, but from the depths of two souls that had walked through fire to find each other.
“With this ring, I give you my life,” Dante said, sliding a diamond eternity band beside her engagement ring.
“With this ring, I give you my heart,” Gemma replied, placing a platinum band upon his finger.
“By the power vested in me,” the priest announced, smiling warmly at the couple, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
“You may kiss your bride.”
Dante did not hesitate.
He pulled Gemma into his arms, dipping her slightly as his lips met hers.
The congregation erupted into thunderous applause.
Cheers echoed off the ancient stone walls.
They turned to face their city.
Hand in hand.
Equals.
Partners.
Sovereigns.
As they walked down the aisle together into the bright sunshine of Boston, Dante looked down at his wife.
The assistant who had refused to let him die.
The woman who had built an empire of truth from the ashes of betrayal.
May you like
The only queen he would ever serve.
THE END
