Chapter 8 - THE HEIRESS OF THE MORETTI ESTATEThree months later.
The dark clouds that had hung over my life for three long years had completely vanished.
The Bellini syndicate had been dismantled entirely, their assets absorbed into the Moretti empire. My sister, Lily, had been relocated from her boarding school to a breathtaking private estate in upstate New York, fully funded by a perpetual trust fund Luca had set up in her name. She had private tutors, security, and a future brighter than anything our parents could have ever dreamed for her.
And as for me, I no longer wore a maid's uniform.
On a warm Saturday afternoon in September, the grand estate in New York opened its iron gates once more—not for a tense art gallery party, but for the grandest wedding the East Coast underworld had seen in fifty years.
Over four hundred guests filled the grand ballroom—foreign diplomats, powerful politicians, syndicate Dons from Chicago, Las Vegas, and Milan, all dressed in high-fashion black-tie attire.
Inside the master suite upstairs, I stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
I wore an exquisite custom lace gown that swept the floor, adorned with thousands of tiny hand-stitched pearls. My dark hair was styled in soft, glamorous waves, pinned back by a delicate diamond tiara. The scars on my arms and legs had faded into faint, pale lines—reminders of a past I had survived, not a sentence I was forced to live.
The heavy oak doors opened, and my sister, Lily, ran into the room wearing a matching blush-pink bridesmaid dress.
"Claire!" Lily cried out, throwing her arms around my waist. "You look like a real princess!"
"I don't feel like a princess, sweetie," I smiled, holding her tight, tears of happiness brimming in my eyes. "I just feel loved."
A soft knock sounded at the door. Marco stepped inside, wearing a crisp tuxedo.
"It's time, Miss Vance," Marco smiled warmly, offering me his arm. "The Don is waiting."
I walked down the grand marble staircase, my long lace train floating behind me.
At the end of the aisle, standing before an altar made of towering white orchids and soft candlelight, stood Luca Moretti.
He looked impossibly handsome in an Italian velvet tuxedo, his long black hair neatly styled, his dark eyes locked onto mine the moment I appeared at the top of the stairs. As I walked toward him, I saw something in his sharp, scarred face that few people in this world ever got to see: absolute, unadulterated devotion.
When I reached the altar, Luca stepped forward, taking my hands in his. His large, warm fingers squeezed mine gently.
"You are breathtaking, Claire," he whispered, his deep baritone sending a delicious shiver down my spine.
"You don't look so bad yourself, Don Moretti," I teased softly.
The priest began the ceremony, but I barely heard the Latin prayers or the traditional vows. All I could focus on was the steady, iron warmth of the man holding my hands—the man who had pulled me out of the shadows, protected my family, and handed me the keys to an empire.
"With this ring, I pledge my life, my soul, and my empire to you," Luca spoke his vows, his voice ringing loud and clear through the silent hall. He slid a massive, flawless five-carat oval diamond ring onto my finger.
"And with this ring," I replied, sliding his platinum band onto his finger, "I give you my heart, forever."
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"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declared. "You may kiss your bride."
Luca didn't hesitate. He pulled me into his arms, dipping me low as he pressed his lips against mine in a deep, passionate kiss that made the entire room erupt into thunderous applause and cheers.
