Chapter 10 - The Sovereign’s Decree
The heavy service doors of Ristorante Bellagio swung open into the damp, chilly October air of Manhattan.
The alleyway was completely blocked by three midnight-black, armored Cadillac Suburbans, their V8 engines rumbling in low, synchronized thunder that vibrated against the wet brick walls. Twelve heavily armed tactical security guards, dressed in black tactical gear and Kevlar vests, formed an unbroken human wall stretching from the restaurant’s rear exit to the reinforced doors of the center vehicle. The surrounding streets had been sealed off by private security details; not a single pedestrian, taxi, or paparazzi could penetrate the perimeter.
Dominic Moretti stepped through the doorway first.
He was magnificent in his authority. His tailored black suit was immaculate, his black dress shirt buttoned to the collar now, his expensive wristwatch gleaming beneath the streetlights. His dark wavy hair was slicked back against the misty rain, his jaw set like an iron anvil. His piercing dark eyes scanned the rooftops, the alley corners, and the windows with the cold, lethal assessment of an apex predator ensuring his territory was secure.
Behind him walked Mara.
She had discarded the stained white apron, but she still wore the pale-yellow waitress dress, now partially concealed beneath Dominic’s heavy, cashmere overcoat that he had draped over her shoulders. The coat fell past her knees, smelling of expensive cedar and tobacco, enveloping her in warmth against the autumn chill. In her arms, wrapped securely in a thick cashmere baby blanket, was Nico. The infant was wide awake now, nestled contentedly against her chest, his bright blue eyes watching the rain droplets with innocent fascination, his tiny fingers firmly tangled in the silver chain of the weeping angel pendant hanging around her neck.
Marco held the heavy, blast-proof door of the center Suburban open, his head bowed in deep respect as Mara approached.
"Watch your step, Donna Mara," Marco said softly, extending a gloved hand to assist her into the elevated leather seat.
Mara paused on the running board of the vehicle. She looked back at the narrow, dirty alleyway—the alleyway where she had taken out trash bags, where she had stood on fifteen-minute breaks worrying about her electric bill, where she had lived as an invisible ghost in a city that crushed the poor.
Then she looked up at Dominic.
The mob boss stood in the rain, refusing an umbrella from his enforcer, his tattooed hands resting at his sides, his eyes fixed on her with an unshakeable, fierce devotion that promised both salvation and absolute possession.
"Where are we going?" Mara asked, her voice clear, no longer trembling.
Dominic stepped closer, his broad frame shielding her and the baby from the rising wind. He reached out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of chestnut hair from her cheek, his touch surprisingly tender against her cool skin.
"Home, Mara," Dominic answered, his deep baritone carrying the weight of an unwritten law. "We’re going to the house your mother should have lived in. Tomorrow morning, every family from here to Chicago will know that the Moretti bloodline is whole again."
He leaned down, pressing a firm, protective kiss to the top of baby Nico’s head, before looking straight into Mara’s eyes.
May you like
"And God help anyone who tries to take you from me."
Dominic climbed into the seat beside her, the heavy armored door closing with a definitive, pressurized thud that severed her former life forever. The convoy shifted into gear, the red taillights illuminating the wet asphalt as the three black machines surged into the Manhattan night, carrying the lost heiress and the infant prince toward an empire built on blood, vengeance, and the unbreakable vow of a weeping angel.
