Chapter 10 - Reign of the Moretti Queen
By dawn, the syndicate war was over before the city of Chicago even woke up.
Adrian had moved with terrifying speed. Salvatore Moretti’s villa in Lake Forest had been surrounded by fifty loyal soldiers at four in the morning. When Salvatore realized his nephew was alive and Nathan Cross was dead, the old don had tried to reach for his pistol, only to be executed on his own front lawn by his own capos, who immediately threw their weapons to the ground and pledged total allegiance to Adrian.
The Moretti syndicate had been purged of its rot. There was no one left to question Adrian’s rule.
And no one left to question mine.
Four months later.
The private penthouse maternity suite at Northwestern Memorial Hospital was bathed in the warm, golden light of an early spring sunset. The lake outside was calm, glistening like liquid sapphire beneath the clear sky.
I lay in the massive hospital bed, utterly exhausted, my hair damp with sweat, but my heart was fuller than it had ever been in my entire life.
Wrapped in a soft, cream-colored cashmere blanket resting securely in my arms was our son.
He was perfect. A thick tuft of jet-black hair, delicate porcelain skin, and when he blinked his tiny eyes open for the first time, they revealed dark, piercing irises that were an exact mirror of his father’s.
“Alexander Adrian Moretti,” I whispered, tears of joy streaming down my cheeks as I kissed his tiny, warm forehead.
The door to the suite opened softly.
Adrian stepped inside. The Don of Chicago—the man who controlled billions of dollars, who held politicians in his palm, and whose name made hardened criminals tremble—looked completely stripped of his armor. He wore a simple black sweater, his sleeves pushed up, his face softened by pure, unadulterated awe.
He walked over to the bed, his boots making no sound on the floor, and sat beside me.
Slowly, his large, scarred hand reached out, trembling slightly as his index finger gently brushed against the baby’s tiny cheek. Baby Alexander let out a soft sigh, his miniature fingers instinctively wrapping around Adrian’s thumb with surprising strength.
A ragged breath escaped Adrian’s chest. A single tear—the first and only tear I had ever seen him shed—rolled down his cheek and fell onto the white linen.
“He has your chin,” Adrian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And your grace.”
“He has your eyes,” I replied, smiling through my tears. “He’s going to be just as stubborn as his father.”
Adrian leaned down, pressing his lips to my temple, holding the kiss for a long, breathless moment. “Thank you, Claire. For giving me a family. For saving me from the dark.”
“You saved me first, Adrian,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder as we looked down at our sleeping child. “In that grocery store… you gave me my life back.”
“No,” Adrian said firmly, turning to look into my eyes with an intensity that took my breath away. “You were never broken, Claire. You were just waiting for a throne that was worthy of you.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. When he clicked it open, a magnificent, flawless black diamond ring, circled by emeralds and platinum, caught the golden light of the sunset.
“Marry me, Claire,” Adrian asked, his voice steady, carrying the weight of an eternal vow. “Not just in the eyes of my syndicate, but before God and the world. Rule this city beside me. Be my wife, my partner, and my queen.”
I looked at the ring, then looked at the fierce, devoted man who had torn down an entire empire just to keep me safe.
“Yes,” I whispered, a radiant smile breaking across my face. “A thousand times, yes.”
Adrian slid the heavy ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, cold and commanding, a symbol of an unbreakable bond forged in blood, vengeance, and unyielding love.
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One year ago, I was standing in a dairy aisle with seventeen dollars in my bank account, enduring the humiliation of a cowardly ex-fiancé who thought cruel words made him a king.
Today, Nathan Cross was a nameless ghost beneath the concrete of the city, while I sat in the golden light of a new dawn, holding Chicago’s future in my arms, loved by the only king that mattered.
