Chapter 16 - The Wedding on the North Side
Spring returned to Chicago with an explosion of dogwood blossoms and green willow branches across the grand lawns of my North Side estate.
The heavy iron gates, usually bolted tight against the violence of the city, stood wide open.
Inside the courtyard, white silk tents had been erected, surrounded by thousands of imported white roses and soft string lights that shimmered in the evening dusk. A small, intimate gathering of trusted allies, elite medical specialists from Northwestern Memorial, and my most loyal enforcers—Vinnie and Dante in sharp tuxedos—stood chatting near the terrace.
And in the center of it all stood Keo.
He was wearing a miniature black tuxedo, running across the manicured lawn with a blue Captain Galaxy cape tied around his neck, laughing as he chased a butterfly through the flowerbeds.
I stood near the French doors of the study, adjusting my black silk tie, feeling an unfamiliar knot of nervous tension tightening in my chest.
The heavy oak door behind me clicked open.
I turned around.
Linda walked out of the dressing room.
Words, which had never failed me in boardrooms, interrogation cells, or syndicate wars, deserted me entirely.
She wore a simple, elegant ivory silk gown that hugged her slender frame, her dark hair pinned back with a delicate silver comb, her eyes shining with a quiet, breathtaking radiance. The bruise on her cheek was gone, replaced by a smile so profound it felt like the sun breaking through a lifetime of Chicago gray.
“Well?” she asked softly, biting her lower lip with a touch of playful nervousness. “Does it meet your inspection standards, Mr. Gallo? Not a single speck of dust?”
I walked slowly across the room, stopping inches from her, my gaze drinking in every detail.
“Inspection standards exceeded,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “Permanently.”
She reached up, her soft hands resting on the lapels of my tuxedo jacket, adjusting my collar with familiar grace.
“You know, Salvatore,” she whispered, using my first name with a lingering fondness that made my heart race faster than any gunfight ever could. “When I first started scrubbing your floors six months ago, I thought you were the most terrifying man alive.”
“And now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Now,” she smiled, standing on her tiptoes to press a tender, lingering kiss against my cheek, “I know you’re just a stubborn old mob boss who didn't know how to let anyone love him until a cleaning girl forced her way into your study.”
I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her close against my chest, breathing in the scent of vanilla and rain.
May you like
“Let’s go,” I whispered against her hair. “Everyone’s waiting.”
Hand in hand, the syndicate boss and the cleaning girl stepped out through the French doors into the golden Chicago evening, ready to face whatever came next—together.
