Chapter 9 - The Queen of Chicago
One year later.
The cathedral of Holy Name sat bathed in the golden light of an autumn afternoon. Outside, a motorcade of thirty black Cadillacs lined the boulevard, blocking traffic with the quiet, unquestioned authority of an empire operating in broad daylight.
Today was not a wedding of debt.
It was a reaffirmation of power.
Inside the private gardens of the Lake Forest estate later that evening, a massive celebration was underway. The finest string quartet from the Chicago Symphony played beneath strings of amber fairy lights woven through the ancient oak trees.
The city’s elite were present—mayors, judges, corporate titans, and the bosses of the Five Families—all mingling under the watchful eyes of the most heavily armed private security force in the Midwest.
None of them looked at Bridget with pity.
None of them whispered insults behind their hands.
She stood on the grand stone terrace overlooking the lawn, a glass of vintage sparkling water in hand. Her gown was a masterpiece of bespoke French silk—a rich, deep sapphire blue that draped gloriously over her broad, full curves, accentuating the regal, magnificent woman she had always been. She looked breathtaking, powerful, and untouchable.
A pair of strong arms slipped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against a broad, muscular chest.
Roman pressed his face into the curve of her neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her skin.
“You’re avoiding our guests, Donna Moretti,” he murmured, his voice rich and deep against her ear.
Bridget leaned back against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. Her hands came up to rest over his large, tattooed fingers linked across her stomach.
“They bore me, Roman,” she said softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “They spend so much time pretending to be powerful. It’s exhausting to watch.”
Roman chuckled, the low rumble vibrating through his chest. He turned her gently in his arms until she was facing him.
He looked down at his wife. His eyes, once so cold and detached, were filled with a fierce, burning adoration that had only deepened with every passing month. In a world built on lies, betrayal, and violence, she had become his anchor, his equal, his entire universe.
“You bought out Apex’s remaining maritime shares this morning,” Roman noted, brushing a stray dark curl from her forehead.
“It was an undervalued asset,” Bridget replied arched an eyebrow. “And I don’t like leaving loose ends in Lake Michigan.”
“God, I love you,” Roman whispered, his thumb caressing her cheek.
Bridget’s breath softened. Even after a year of hearing those words, they still had the power to make her heart skip a beat.
Arthur Sullivan had handed her over like an invoice to be settled. Society had judged her as nothing more than extra weight in a white dress. But Roman Moretti had looked past the surface, found the fire burning inside her, and surrendered his entire empire to keep it lit.
“Are you ever going to regret giving me half your kingdom, Roman?” she asked playfully, her eyes searching his.
Roman leaned down, pressing his lips softly to the corner of her mouth, then to her jaw, before capturing her lips in a deep, tender kiss that left them both breathless in the cool evening air.
He pulled back, his dark eyes locked onto hers with absolute, unshakable certainty.
“You didn't take half my kingdom, Bridget,” Roman whispered, his voice thick with devotion. “You saved it. And then you made it yours.”
From the terrace below, the string quartet swelled into a sweeping crescendo. Across the lawn, the most dangerous men in America raised their glasses toward the terrace, bowing their heads in unison.
Bridget Sullivan-Moretti rested her hand against her husband’s chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath her palm.
May you like
She had arrived in this house as a mocked, heavyset collateral bride.
She was leaving the world behind as the undisputed Queen of Chicago.
