Chapter 10 - The Phoenix’s Bride
One year later.
The church in Little Italy was filled with white roses, warm candlelight, and over three hundred guests.
There were no mob bosses in attendance tonight. No crooked politicians, no heavily armed guards in the aisles, no fear lingering in the air.
The front rows were filled with community leaders, shelter workers, doctors, my mother in a beautiful lavender gown, my brother Leo in a sharp tuxedo, and Arthur Vance, the old chief veterinarian who had helped save Bruno.
The heavy wooden doors at the back of the church swung open.
The organ swelled into a magnificent, triumphant hymn.
I stood at the top of the aisle, dressed in a breathtaking white lace gown that trailed behind me like a cloud of silver mist. In my hands, I held a bouquet of white roses and lavender.
Beside me, holding my arm with pride and tears in his eyes, was my brother Leo.
And standing at the far end of the altar, clad in a flawless black tuxedo, was Luca Moretti.
He looked like a king. But as his grey eyes found mine through the candlelight, his sharp features softened into an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion.
And sitting right beside him at the altar—wearing a tiny black bow tie attached to his leather collar—was Bruno.
The old dog stood tall, his silver muzzle held high, looking as regal and dignified as his master.
I walked down the aisle, every step echoing with the memory of where we had begun—from a wet, dark garage in Oakbrook to a sunlit altar of love and redemption.
Leo placed my hand into Luca’s massive palm.
Luca squeezed my fingers gently, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "You are the most beautiful vision I have ever seen, my Phoenix."
I smiled, my heart overflowing. "And you are my home, Luca."
The priest stepped forward, his voice echoing through the sacred hall as he read the ancient vows of devotion, trust, and everlasting love.
"Do you, Luca Vincenzo Moretti, take Emma Sullivan to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do you part?"
Luca looked straight into my eyes, his voice steady, deep, and echoing with absolute certainty.
"I do."
"And do you, Emma Sullivan, take Luca Vincenzo Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do you part?"
"I do," I answered softly, tears of joy sparkling in my eyes.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest smiled. "You may kiss the bride."
Luca didn't hesitate. He pulled me into his arms, dipping me slightly as he pressed his lips to mine in a long, deep, passionate kiss that brought the entire church to its feet in deafening applause.
As we pulled back, smiling and breathless, Bruno trotted over, placing his heavy gray muzzle against our joined hands.
Luca dropped to one knee, wrapping one arm around me and the other around his father's dog.
"We made it, old boy," Luca whispered to Bruno, his eyes shining with happy tears.
May you like
Bruno let out a happy, thumping bark that echoed off the high stained-glass windows, bringing laughter and joy to every soul in the room.
We walked back down the aisle together—hand in hand, husband and wife—stepping out of the church doors into the bright, beautiful Chicago sunshine, where a brand-new life of light, love, and unbroken loyalty was waiting for us.
