Chapter 9 - THE RESTORATION
Six months later.
The summer sun shone brightly over the shores of Lake Michigan.
The small, private garden behind the Lincoln Park brownstone was blooming with white hydrangeas. There were no armed guards at the perimeter. There were no trustees calculating alliances.
There were only fifty chairs, filled with people who actually mattered.
Elena stood in a small bedroom on the second floor, looking at herself in the mirror. She wore a simple, elegant ivory silk dress. No heavy ballgown. No suffocating expectations.
Gianna stood behind her, adjusting the silver comb in Elena’s hair—the same comb Matteo had given her a year ago.
“You look beautiful,” Gianna smiled, squeezing her shoulders.
“I feel beautiful,” Elena admitted, touching the silver locket resting against her collarbone.
A soft knock came at the door.
Elena’s father walked in, wearing a sharp new suit. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his great-grandfather’s silver pocket watch. He checked the time, snapping it shut with a satisfied click.
“It’s time, sweetheart,” he said, offering her his arm.
Elena took it.
They walked downstairs and stepped out into the warm afternoon sun.
An acoustic guitar played softly. As Elena walked down the grassy aisle, she saw Mrs. Odette, the old caterer, dabbing her eyes. She saw Marco, standing respectfully in a tailored suit rather than tactical gear.
And at the end of the aisle, she saw Matteo.
He wore a dark blue suit, his dark hair catching the sunlight. When he saw her, the smile that broke across his face was so genuine, so full of unguarded joy, that Elena felt her breath catch.
He wasn't the cold, calculating mafia boss today. He was just a man looking at his future.
When her father handed her over, Matteo took her hands. He kissed her knuckles, his thumb brushing over her diamond ring.
They spoke their vows quietly, meant only for each other.
“I promise to always stand in your light,” Matteo whispered, referencing the very first words she had ever spoken to him.
Elena smiled through happy tears. “And I promise to always help you fix what is broken.”
When the priest pronounced them husband and wife, Matteo pulled her into a deep, sweeping kiss as their friends and family cheered.
Later that evening, as the sun set over the lake and string lights illuminated the garden, Matteo and Elena slipped away from the dancing.
They stood near the edge of the water, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves.
Matteo wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“Are you happy, Mrs. Bellini?” he murmured against her skin.
Elena leaned back against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. She looked down at her hand, where her engagement ring sparkled beside a simple, unadorned gold wedding band.
There was no black diamond. There was no heavy legacy pressing down on her shoulders.
The syndicate was changing under Matteo’s new leadership. The violence was ending. The legitimate businesses were thriving. And her restoration studio, now fully protected and legally hers, was opening a new gallery next week.
They had burned the old world down.
And the one they had built from the ashes was beautiful.
“I’ve never been happier,” Elena whispered.
May you like
Matteo kissed the side of her head, pulling her closer as the stars began to appear over Chicago.
They had survived the fire. And now, they finally had their tomorrow.
