Chapter 8 - The Queen’s Guard
Spring came to Chicago, melting the last of the snow and turning the Bellandi gardens into a sea of green and white.
The wedding was private, held in the estate's chapel under the gaze of the marble Madonna. I did not wear a tiny, starved-out designer dress. I wore a heavy, ivory silk gown that flowed over my curves like water, designed by a woman Dante had flown in from Milan specifically to match my frame.
"You look like an empress," Dante whispered as I met him at the altar. His gray eyes were bright with a warmth I had never seen in them before.
"I look like myself," I smiled.
"That is exactly what I said," he replied, taking my hands.
The triplets stood beside us. Leo was the best man, holding the rings with a solemn pride. Nico was the ring bearer, and Mia was the flower girl, throwing white rose petals with a joy that filled the small chapel.
When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, Dante kissed me with a depth that made the rest of the world vanish.
At the reception in the gardens, the guards and the heads of the other Chicago families stood in line to kiss my hand. They did not look at me with pity or amusement. They looked at me with respect. They had heard the story of the nanny who had defended the Bellandi heirs with a cast-iron skillet, and they knew better than to cross the Don’s wife.
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"To the Queen of the house," Enzo said, raising his glass of champagne to me with a rare, genuine smile.
"To the family," I replied, clinking my glass against his.
