Chapter 9 - THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURYSix months later.
The Marlowe Grand Hotel’s Grand Ballroom had been completely renovated.
Gone were the cold, snobbish vibes of the past. The ballroom was now filled with warm amber lighting, hundreds of white roses, and an atmosphere of pure, breathtaking joy.
Today was not a business deal. Today was the official wedding of Don Nico Valenti and Donnessa Brielle Dawson.
Five hundred guests filled the golden pews—a mix of high-society figures, mafia leaders from across the country, and hundreds of working-class hotel staff, dockworkers, and street vendors who had been invited as honored personal guests of the bride.
At the front of the altar stood Nico Valenti.
He wore an Italian double-breasted midnight-blue tuxedo, his hazel eyes fixed on the arched double doors at the back of the room. He looked nervous—a man who had faced down federal indictments and rival gun battles without blinking was now trembling slightly at the thought of seeing his bride.
The grand organ chimed into the opening notes of the bridal march.
The doors opened.
Brielle stepped into the ballroom, walking arm-in-arm with her proud father.
The entire crowd gasped in collective awe.
Brielle was a vision of royal, voluptuous majesty. Her custom ivory silk wedding gown was designed to celebrate every curve of her body—a breathtaking off-the-shoulder neckline framing her soft bosom, a fitted boned corset accentuating her waist, and a sweeping ten-foot lace train that swept over the marble floor where she had once bled.
Around her neck lay a delicate platinum necklace holding a single, flawless emerald, matching her deep brown eyes.
As she walked down the aisle, she caught the eye of Lucy—who was now the head Operations Manager of the Marlowe Grand, wearing a sharp designer suit and smiling through tears of joy.
Brielle smiled back, her chin held high.
She reached the altar. Her father placed her hand into Nico’s large, warm palm.
Nico looked at her, his eyes glistening with rare, emotional moisture.
"You take my breath away, dolcezza," Nico whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
"You're not so bad yourself, Don Valenti," Brielle whispered back, her full lips curving into a radiant smile.
The archbishop spoke the ancient vows, blessing their union under the eyes of God and the law of the city.
"Do you, Nico Valenti, take Brielle Dawson to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, in blood and in glory, until death do you part?"
"I do," Nico said, his voice echoing through the silent ballroom with unshakeable certainty. "With my life, my soul, and my iron."
"And do you, Brielle Dawson, take Nico Valenti to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do," Brielle answered soft and strong, looking straight into his eyes. "With all my heart."
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"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the archbishop declared. "You may kiss the bride!"
Nico didn't wait. He cupped Brielle’s waist, pulling her full, soft body flush against his chest, and dipped her low, pressing his lips onto hers in a passionate, lingering kiss that erupted into thunderous cheers and applause from five hundred guests!
