"She was supposed to be invisible, but after taking a wall of shattered glass meant for Dante Moretti’s son, the most feared man in Chicago looked into her eyes and quietly said, “You’re coming with me.”

The summer sun shone brilliantly over the manicured gardens of the Moretti estate. The air was filled with the scent of blooming white roses, jasmine, and the soft melody of a string quartet playing under a silk canopy.

Hundreds of guests—former rivals, city officials, business leaders, and loyal family members—sat in pristine white chairs, watching the grand pavilion at the edge of the fountain.

The Falcone family was gone, absorbed and dismantled following Dominic's death. Chicago was peaceful under the absolute, undisputed rule of Dante Moretti.

Standing at the altar in a sharp black tuxedo was Dante. He looked imposing, powerful, and impeccably handsome, but his dark eyes were fixed with laser focus on the end of the aisle.

Beside him stood five-year-old Matteo, wearing a matching tiny tuxedo, holding a velvet pillow with two platinum bands.

The music shifted to a breathtaking bridal march.

I stepped onto the aisle, wearing a sweeping ivory lace gown that trailed behind me like a cloud. My dark hair was styled up, revealing my bare shoulders and the faint, silvery scars on my back—scars I no longer hid, but wore proudly as a badge of the night my life truly began.

As I walked toward Dante, our eyes met, and the entire world outside the estate seemed to vanish once again.

When I reached the altar, Dante stepped forward, taking both of my hands in his. His calloused thumbs stroked my knuckles gently.

"You look like a dream, Clara," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I used to think my life was meant to be small," I replied softly, looking into his eyes. "I used to think I was meant to be invisible. But you taught me that taking a risk for love is the only way to truly live."

The priest spoke the ancient vows, but the words between us were unspoken—written in the blood we had shed, the fortress we had built, and the family we had become.

"By the power vested in me," the priest announced with a smile, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Dante, you may kiss your bride."

Dante didn't hesitate. He pulled me gently into his arms, wrapping one long arm around my waist, his lips meeting mine in a deep, passionate kiss that brought a thunderous ovation from the crowd.

Matteo cheered loudly, jumping up and down beside us, tossing his toy car into the air.

When Dante finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, a rare, beautiful smile illuminating his dark, sharp features.

"You broke the cardinal rule of survival, Clara," Dante murmured softly, his thumb brushing over my wedding ring. "You let the mob boss see your face."

"And what happens now?" I asked with a soft laugh.