Chapter 10 - THE ASHES OF DECEIT
Six months later, the ballroom of the Moretti estate had been completely restored. The bloodstains were gone, the marble polished to a mirror shine, the shattered chandeliers replaced by even grander crystals that bathed the room in golden light.
But this time, the atmosphere was entirely different.
There were no sneering politicians, no condescending socialites, no whispers of cruelty. The room was filled with family—both by blood and by loyalty. The men wore tailored suits, but their guns were checked at the door. The women wore bright, joyful colors. The air smelled of roasted garlic, rich wine, and blooming jasmine.
At the head of the room, Aleandro Moretti stood at the altar. He wore a crisp, tailored black tuxedo, but his face was softer than anyone in the syndicate had ever seen it.
The heavy mahogany doors at the back of the ballroom swung open.
Sophia stood there, radiant in a flowing, elegant white silk gown, her dark hair swept up in a cascade of pearls. She didn't look nervous. She looked like she belonged there, commanding the room with a quiet, undeniable grace that Valentina Romano could never have bought with all her Parisian dresses.
But it was the flower girl who stole the show.
Emma walked ahead of her mother. She was wearing a tiny white dress with a giant tulle skirt. On her feet were sparkling, light-up sneakers. In one hand, she carried a basket of white rose petals; in the other, she dragged her faded stuffed rabbit, now wearing a tiny custom tuxedo.
As Emma walked down the aisle, she didn't just toss the petals. She spun. She twirled. She leaped with the raw, untamed joy of a child who knew she was entirely safe, entirely loved.
The tough, scarred men of the Moretti syndicate—captains who had killed men with their bare hands, enforcers who feared nothing—wiped tears from their eyes as the little girl danced her way toward her father.
When Emma reached the altar, Aleandro abandoned protocol entirely. He knelt down, scooping his daughter into his arms, kissing her cheek, and burying his face in her curls before handing her to Luca, who was standing proudly as the best man.
Sophia reached the altar. Aleandro took her hands, his thumb brushing over the flawless diamond on her finger.
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"You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
"You don't look so bad yourself, Mr. Moretti," she smiled.
