Chapter 6 - A Feast for the BelovedSix Months Later.
The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was packed with every prominent figure in the Midwest. Politicians, shipping magnates, police commanders, and international businessmen filled the tables. But tonight was not a business summit.
Tonight was a celebration.
Music played softly from a live orchestra. At the head table sat my mother, looking radiant and completely healthy after her successful surgery, laughing with Leo and Vincent’s top captains.
Standing near the floor-to-ceiling glass doors overlooking the city was Vincent—looking impossibly sharp in a black tuxedo, his shoulder fully healed, his presence as commanding as ever.
And beside him was me.
I wore a custom silk gown of deep emerald green that hugged every curve of my body, flowing down into a dramatic train. Around my neck sat a necklace of dark emeralds and diamonds—a gift from Vincent that matched the glowing ring on my left hand. I was no longer hiding. I held my head high, proud of every inch of who I was.
In the corner of the ballroom, standing among the outer staff, was Tyler.
Part of his plea deal for his indirect involvement in the syndicate war required him to work community service through a high-end catering firm. He was wearing a plain server’s suit, carrying a tray of champagne glasses.
He looked up, his eyes meeting mine across the room. There was no arrogance left in him. Only deep, inescapable regret as he watched the woman he had called "impossible to love" standing as the revered queen of Chicago’s most powerful man.
I didn't glare at him. I simply gave him a small, polite nod, letting him see that he no longer had any power over my story—not even my anger.
Vincent stepped up behind me, wrapping his arm securely around my waist and drawing me against his side. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling the scent of my perfume.
"What are you thinking about, Mrs. DeLuca?" he murmured softly, his voice sending that familiar, wonderful shiver down my spine.
"I was thinking about the waitress who used to think her life was over," I said, turning in his arms to wrap my hands around his neck. "And the boss who bought a cup of black coffee every Tuesday just to see her."
Vincent smiled—a true, warm, breathtaking smile that was reserved only for me.
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"I didn't just want to see you, Emily," he whispered, looking down at me with pure, undiluted devotion. "I was waiting until I had built a kingdom worthy of offering to you."
He leaned down and kissed me—not to prove a point to a cruel room, not to protect me from danger, but simply because he loved me with every beat of his heart. And as the crowd erupted into applause, I kissed him back, knowing that I was finally home.
