“Who did this to you?” The most feared Mafia boss in Chicago asked that question the second my sleeve slipped down and exposed the scars I'd spent years hiding

One year later.

The autumn wind swept crisp golden leaves across the sprawling lawns of Moretti Manor, but inside, the house was alive with the warm, golden glow of candlelight, laughter, and the soft strains of a classical string quartet playing softly from the ballroom.

Tonight wasn't a meeting of syndicate capos or a summit of underworld kingpins.

Tonight was a celebration.

The grand ballroom had been transformed into a floral paradise of white roses and cascading ivy. Guests from across Chicago’s high society—judges, politicians, business tycoons, and elite figures who knew better than to ask too many questions about the Moretti family’s history—mingled smoothly, raising crystal champagne flutes in toast after toast.

Standing in front of the massive floor-to-mirror in the private bridal suite upstairs, I stared at my reflection and barely recognized the woman looking back.

The pale, exhausted girl with bruised eyes and torn clothes who had scrubbed blood off the marble floors was completely gone. In her place stood a queen.

I wore a breathtaking, custom-designed white silk gown with delicate lace sleeves that hugged my silhouette before cascading into a sweeping train. My hair was swept up into an elegant, timeless chignon, with loose tendrils framing my face. Around my neck hung a delicate diamond necklace—a wedding gift from Vincent that caught the chandelier light like captured starlight.

The door clicked open softly, and Vincent stepped into the room.

He was dressed in a flawless, bespoke black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and a silk bow tie. He stopped dead in his tracks, his slate-gray eyes widening slightly as he took me in. For all his absolute control over the city of Chicago, right at this moment, he looked completely, helplessly captivated.

"Breathtaking," Vincent breathed, closing the distance between us without making a sound. He reached out, his fingertips grazing my bare shoulder before wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me gently against his chest. "I must have done something very right in a past life to deserve this moment."

"Or maybe you just got lucky with your cleaning staff," I teased softly, resting my hands against the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.

Vincent let out a low, rumbling laugh, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of my head. "The best investment I ever made. Though I think firing Mrs. Bennett and promoting you to permanent resident was the real masterstroke."

"She still sends me angry letters complaining about how I ruined her dusting schedule," I joked.

"Let her write," Vincent replied, his tone turning dark for a fraction of a second before softening back into warmth. "Her letters are burning in the estate furnace as we speak."

A soft, piping knock sounded at the door.

Before we could answer, the door swung open, and Lily marched into the room like a tiny royalty. She was wearing a miniature flower-girl dress made of white tulle that matched mine, complete with a flower crown perched crookedly on her dark curls. In her hands, she carried a velvet basket filled with rose petals.

"Mommy! Mr. Vincent! Everyone is waiting downstairs!" Lily announced importantly, her brown eyes wide with excitement. "The music is playing, and Uncle Dante says it's time to get married!"

Vincent smiled down at her, kneeling on one knee so he was at her eye level. "Thank you for the update, Chief of Protocol. Are you ready to scatter those petals down the aisle?"

"Born ready!" Lily beamed, holding up her basket.

She ran over to me, wrapping her little arms around my legs as far as they could reach. "You look like a fairy princess, Mommy."

I crouched down, wrapping my arms around both of my favorite people in the world—the man who had pulled me out of the darkest abyss of my life, and the little girl who gave me the strength to survive it.

"Come on, my loves," I whispered, standing up and taking Vincent’s outstretched hand in mine. "Let's go claim our future."

As we walked down the grand staircase together—past the very spot where my blood had once mixed with cleaning water—the string quartet swelled into a triumphant, joyful melody. The massive oak doors at the end of the foyer swung open, revealing a room full of smiling faces waiting to greet us.