Chapter 19 - The Unwritten Rule
The wedding was the most heavily guarded, quietly magnificent event Chicago had ever seen.
There were no tabloid cameras, no federal agents, and no rival syndicates. Held in a private, glass-enclosed botanical garden overlooking Lake Michigan, the guest list consisted of the deaf youth from our foundation, our closest friends, and Marcus standing proudly as the best man.
I wore a sleek, elegant white silk gown, my hair pinned back with delicate pearl pins. When I walked down the aisle, flanked by my brother Leo—who proudly signed every lyric of the processional music—Salvatore stood at the altar waiting for me.
For the first time in his life, the formidable crime boss of the West Side looked completely, utterly vulnerable.
As I reached his side, we didn't exchange spoken vows. We didn't need to. Our hands intertwined, our fingers spelling out our promises to one another in the universal language of devotion, loyalty, and unconditional love.
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When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, Salvatore pulled me close, his lips brushing my forehead as his fingers signed one final message against my back:
My life is yours. Always.
