Chapter 9 - The Wedding in Ohio and the Uninvited Guest
Twelve hours later, the bleak industrial landscape of the New York dockyards felt like a distant nightmare.
The private Moretti jet—a sleek, customized Gulfstream lined with dark leather seating and polished walnut trim—touched down smoothly on a private tarmac outside Cleveland under a cold, starless midnight sky.
True to his word, Dominic had not only ensured our safe passage, but he had also brought along a full security detail led by Marco Bellini to ensure that Aunt Emma’s hastily arranged wedding at a modest local chapel went off without a single drop of uninvited bloodshed.
My mother, propped up in a comfortable hospice bed wheeled directly into the flower-filled vestry of the small chapel, wept openly with joy as she watched me walk down the modest aisle holding Lily’s hand.
And sitting quietly in the very back pew of the chapel, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that somehow made a country church look like a high-stakes corporate boardroom, was Dominic Moretti.
He didn't take communion. He didn't sign the guestbook. He simply sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes scanning every entrance, every window, and every face in the room with absolute, unyielding vigilance.
He was protecting us. Not because it was his job description as a wealthy estate owner, but because, in his own terrifying, unyielding way, he had quietly decided that anyone who threatened his housekeeper or her little girl answered directly to him.
The wedding ceremony was brief, emotional, and filled with tearful embraces.
When the small gathering moved outside into the crisp midnight air for photographs under the glowing porch lights, Lily toddled straight across the gravel path, holding her gray stuffed rabbit in one hand and a piece of wedding cake in the other.
She walked right up to Dominic, who was standing beside the idling Maybach, smoking a rare cigar in the quiet night air.
“Mr. Moretti,” Lily announced importantly, holding up a sticky piece of white frosted cake. “You didn't eat any cake.”
Dominic looked down at her, the stern, impassive mask of the ruthless mafia boss melting away into something remarkably warm and human.
He slowly knelt down on one knee, ignoring the damp gravel staining his expensive trousers, and accepted the small piece of cake from her tiny fingers.
“Thank you, Lily,” Dominic said gravely, taking a small bite. “It’s very good.”
“Are you staying for dinner?” she asked innocently, tilting her head.
Dominic glanced up, his dark eyes meeting mine across the glowing porch lights. A slow, undeniable smile touched the corners of his mouth—the first true, genuine smile I had ever seen him wear in four years of working inside his mansion.
May you like
“I think,” Dominic replied softly, looking directly into my eyes, “your mommy and I still have a few things to discuss about your employment contract back in New York.”
My heart hammered violently against my ribs, but for the first time in my life, there was no fear left inside it—only the warm, steady promise of a brand-new beginning under the protection of the most dangerous man in Manhattan.
