Chapter 8 - The Vow of Iron and Roses
Dominic stopped in his tracks, his shoulders rigid.
I set Mateo gently down in his crib, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and marched across the nursery until I was standing directly in front of him.
"You think you're noble?" I shouted, poking my finger hard into his broad chest. "You think you're doing me a favor by handing me a apartment deed and kicking me out the door?!"
"Clara—"
"Shut up!" I yelled. "When my son Leo died, I thought my life was over! I ran away from nursing, I ran away from people, I hid behind a waitress apron because I was terrified of loving anyone ever again! I was dead inside, Dominic!"
Dominic stared at me, his eyes wide.
"And then I walked into Bellavita," I continued, tears streaming down my face. "And I met a arrogant, terrifying mob boss who didn't know how to feed his own baby. And over the last six weeks, watching you love Mateo, watching you protect this family... you brought me back to life!"
I grabbed both sides of his face, forcing him to look down into my eyes.
"I don't want a condo in downtown Chicago!" I sobbed. "I don't want to run away from you! I love Mateo, and God help me, I love you, Dominic Moretti!"
Dominic let out a low, wrecked sound from the back of his throat.
He wrapped his massive arms around my waist, lifting me completely off my feet, and slammed his lips onto mine in a passionate, desperate, breathtaking kiss.
It was filled with all the pain, fear, and devotion we had bottled up for weeks. I wrapped my legs around his waist, tangling my fingers in his dark hair, kissing him back with everything I had.
"Say it again," Dominic growled against my mouth, holding me effortlessly against his chest. "Say it again, Clara."
"I love you," I wept, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his lips. "I love you so much."
"I have loved you since the second you called me an idiot in that restaurant," Dominic swore, his grey eyes shining with fierce, emotional tears. "You are my home, Clara. You and Mateo."
He carried me over to the armchair, sitting down with me in his lap, holding me close as I rested my head against his neck, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart.
One year later.
The sun was shining brightly over Lake Michigan, reflecting off the crystal windows of the Moretti estate.
The grand rear lawn was decorated with hundreds of white roses, velvet runners, and a floral arch overlooking the water.
Two hundred guests sat in the gilded chairs—city officials, reformed business associates, and nurses from Chicago Presbyterian, where I had recently completed my degree as a Pediatric Nurse Practitioner, fully funded by the newly established Leo Vance Foundation for Infant Health.
I stood at the top of the terrace stairs in an exquisite lace bridal gown with a sweeping silk train.
My former nursing professor held my arm, walking me down the aisle toward the altar.
Standing under the floral arch was Dominic.
He wore a custom black tuxedo, looking impossibly handsome, powerful, and radiant. Standing beside him as his best man was Frank, holding a little boy who was now fourteen months old, dressed in a matching tiny tuxedo.
Mateo.
When Dominic saw me walking toward him, the feared mafia lord of Chicago wept openly, his broad chest rising and falling as he watched his bride approach.
When my hand was placed in his, Dominic leaned down and whispered into my ear, "You take my breath away, Mrs. Moretti."
"You haven't said your vows yet, Mr. Moretti," I teased softly.
"I don't need vows," Dominic murmured, holding my hands tightly. "My life is yours."
May you like
When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, Dominic pulled me into his arms, dipping me low over the bed of white roses, kissing me as the entire crowd erupted into thunderous, joyous applause.
Mateo clapped his tiny hands from Frank's arms, letting out a loud, happy coo that carried over the cheering.
