Chapter 8 - The Queen of New York
Six months later.
The summer sun beamed down over the Hudson River, illuminating the pristine white marble plaza of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Midtown Manhattan.
Thousands of white roses lined the grand aisle leading up to the altar. The cathedral was packed with hundreds of guests—high-society elites, politicians, foreign dignitaries, and the highest-ranking leaders of the Five Families, all dressed in black-tie elegance.
At the front of the altar stood Damiano Moretti.
He looked impossibly handsome in a tailored black tuxedo, his dark hair styled perfectly, his posture tall and proud. Beside him stood Dante as his best man.
The heavy mahogany cathedral doors opened.
The organ swelled into a magnificent, breathtaking march.
Walking down the rose-strewn aisle first was seven-year-old Emma. She wore a sparkling white lace flower-girl dress, a crown of small white roses in her hair, and a brilliant, radiant smile on her face. She carried a silver basket, tossing rose petals with regal perfection.
Behind her came me.
My wedding dress was a masterpiece of French lace and hand-sewn pearls, featuring a long, flowing train that glided over the marble floor. A delicate diamond tiara rested on my styled hair, securing a cathedral-length veil.
As I walked toward Damiano, his dark whiskey eyes locked onto mine. For the first time since I had met him, I saw tears glistening in the eyes of the most feared Don in New York.
When I reached the altar, he took my hand in his. His touch was warm, solid, and filled with a lifetime of promises.
“You take my breath away, Mrs. Moretti,” he whispered softly.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Moretti,” I smiled back, my heart overflowing with joy.
The Cardinal performed the sacred ceremony under the towering stained-glass windows. When it came time for the vows, Damiano didn't just speak to me.
He turned to Emma, who was standing beside us holding her brand-new velvet ring pillow.
Damiano dropped to one knee in front of my daughter, pulling a second, small velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a delicate gold necklace featuring a small, diamond-encrusted star.
“Emma,” Damiano said, his deep voice carrying through the quiet cathedral. “Seven months ago, you walked up to me and saved my life. You gave me the greatest gift a man could ever ask for—you brought your mother into my world.”
He fastened the gold necklace around her neck. “I promise to protect you, to love you, to guide you, and to be the father you deserve for the rest of my days. Do you accept me as your dad?”
Emma’s big brown eyes sparkled with tears. She threw her small arms around Damiano’s neck, hugging him tight. “Yes, Daddy!”
A collective, emotional sigh echoed through the cathedral.
Damiano stood up, turned back to me, and pulled me into his arms.
“By the power vested in me,” the Cardinal proclaimed, “I now pronounce you Husband and Wife. You may kiss the Queen.”
Damiano dipped me back, pressing his lips to mine in a deep, passionate kiss that sealed our love forever. The cathedral erupted into thunderous applause, cheers, and standing ovations from the most powerful people in the city.
That evening, the grand reception was held at the Moretti estate—now fully restored, brighter, and filled with warmth and music.
Late into the night, after the dancing and toasts were finished, I stepped out onto the marble balcony overlooking the lush, moonlit gardens.
The air was warm, sweet with the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
A pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Damiano pulled my back against his chest, resting his chin gently on my shoulder.
Down in the garden below, Emma was running through the grass in her white dress, laughing hysterically as she played chase with a golden retriever puppy Damiano had surprised her with that morning.
“Are you happy, my Queen?” Damiano whispered, kissing the side of my neck.
I rested my hands over his, looking at the sparkling diamond ring on my finger, then down at our daughter playing in the peaceful night.
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“I used to think survival meant hiding in the shadows, Damiano,” I whispered back, turning in his arms to look into his dark, loving eyes. “Now I know that real safety is standing right beside the dragon.”
Damiano smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that belonged only to me—and pulled me close, kissing me under the starlit sky of the city we now ruled together.
