Chapter 8 - The Succession
On Friday night, the grand estate in Lake Forest was surrounded by dark blue sedans and hundreds of loyal Moretti soldiers.
Inside the formal oak dining room, thirty senior syndicate bosses sat around a long table. At the head of the room stood Vittorio Moretti, holding a crystal glass of red wine.
Beside him stood Dawson, looking impossibly handsome in a pristine black tuxedo, his hair neatly styled, his demeanor cold, powerful, and utterly commanding.
I stood in the balcony above the dining room alongside Vittorio’s personal legal team, wearing an emerald green silk dress, watching the culmination of everything we had fought for over the past month.
"Brothers," Vittorio’s voice echoed clearly through the room. "For thirty years, I have led this family through war and prosperity. But a syndicate needs young blood to survive in a modern world. My son, Dawson, has proven his strength, his strategy, and his loyalty to this family."
Vittorio raised his glass high.
"Tonight, I officially step down. Dawson Moretti is now the Don of Chicago."
The room erupted into loud cheers and applause as every single boss stood up, raising their glasses in respect to the new leader.
Dawson accepted their nods with calm dignity, but his amber eyes didn't stay on the bosses below. He turned his head, looking straight up toward the balcony where I stood.
He raised his glass directly toward me—a subtle, private nod of absolute devotion that made my heart swell with pride.
Later that night, as the celebration continued downstairs, I stepped out onto the wide stone terrace overlooking the dark, moonlit gardens of the estate.
The chilly autumn breeze felt refreshing against my skin.
Soft footsteps sounded on the stone tiles behind me. Dawson wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, pulling me tight against his warm body.
"Congratulations, Don Moretti," I murmured, turning my head to kiss his cheek.
"I wouldn't be standing here without you, Clara," Dawson whispered, his hands tightening around my waist. "My father thought he was hiring a handler to keep me in line. He didn't realize he was finding the only woman who could complete me."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a breathtaking diamond ring that caught the moonlight like liquid fire.
"The contract is over, Clara," Dawson said, turning me around so I was facing him. "I don't want a handler anymore."
I looked up into those golden eyes that had once terrified an entire city—eyes that now held nothing but fierce, unconditional love for me.
"What do you want, Dawson?" I whispered.
May you like
"I want my queen," Dawson said, sliding the ring onto my finger. "Will you stay with me?"
Tears of happiness welled up in my eyes as I threw my arms around his neck. "Yes. Absolutely yes."
