Chapter 10 - The Wedding at West Addison
The spring sunshine flooded through the newly installed stained-glass windows of the restored Victorian house on West Addison Street.
The front lawn was an explosion of white roses, pink tulips, and green ivy, framed by white silk ribbons tied securely to the white picket fence. There were no armed guards hiding in the bushes, no federal prosecutors taking notes, and no fake socialites judging the silverware.
There were fifty guests: trusted loyalists, local neighbors who had brought homemade pies, Julian Vance in a crisp gray suit, Teresa Moretti smiling proudly in a lavender silk dress, and twelve-year-old Mia acting as the happiest flower girl in the state of Illinois.
And standing beneath a floral arch built by local carpenters on the very spot where Michael had once locked a frightened child away, stood Hannah Collins.
She wore a simple, elegant ivory lace gown with long sleeves and a delicate sweetheart neckline—a dress she had chosen herself, without consulting a single stylist, corporate advisor, or wedding planner.
As the Mendelssohn wedding march swelled from a small string quartet stationed on the porch, the heavy front doors opened.
Luca Moretti stepped out onto the porch.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo, but his tie was slightly askew, and he wasn't looking at the crowd of cheering guests. His dark eyes were locked entirely on Hannah as she began walking down the stone-paved aisle on the arm of a smiling, fully recovered Mr. Vance, who had happily volunteered to give her away.
Teresa Moretti dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief, leaning over to whisper something to Mia that made the little girl giggle.
When Hannah reached the altar, Luca stepped forward, taking her trembling hands in his. His grip was warm, secure, and entirely devoid of the tension that had defined their first meeting months ago.
"You look breathtaking," Luca whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
"You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Moretti," Hannah whispered back with a cheeky grin.
The elderly priest presiding over the ceremony cleared his throat with a warm smile, opening his Bible. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today not to celebrate a contract, nor a merger, nor an empire... but a home."
As the vows were exchanged and the gold bands slipped onto their fingers, Hannah looked out past the crowd of smiling faces toward the street corner where her old life had once felt so impossibly heavy.
She realized then that love wasn't something you had to bargain for, fight for, or buy with corporate wealth. It was something as simple, and as indestructible, as a pale-blue blanket wrapped tightly around someone who was finally safe from the cold.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declared. "Luca, you may kiss your bride."
May you like
Luca didn't hesitate. He pulled Hannah into his arms, kissing her with a fierce, joyful abandon that made the entire yard erupt into cheers, applause, and a cascade of white rose petals thrown by a laughing little girl.
The Moretti empire had survived its wars, its traitors, and its ghosts. But as Luca held his wife against his heart under the bright Chicago sun, the only empire that mattered was the one they were building together—brick by brick, warmth by warmth, forever.
