Chapter 9 - The Coronation
Six months later.
The Cathedral of the Holy Name in downtown Chicago was transformed into a paradise of white roses, gold leaf, and high-society royalty.
Every major syndicate boss from New York, Miami, Las Vegas, and Europe sat in the mahogany pews, guarded by two hundred elite Moretti soldiers stationed along the perimeter.
At the altar stood Lorenzo Moretti.
He looked magnificent in a custom black silk tuxedo, his dark hair brushed back, his slate-grey eyes fixated on the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral.
Beside him, sitting proudly in his specialized silver wheelchair, was Mateo—serving as Lorenzo’s best man. Mateo was smiling broadly, a speech synthesizer tablet resting on his lap.
The grand pipe organ swelled into the magnificent, soaring notes of the Italian wedding march.
The doors swung open.
Lydia walked down the long marble aisle, leaning on the arm of a senior Italian police commander who had been her late brother’s mentor.
She was a vision that stopped the hearts of every man in the room.
Her custom Italian lace dress was a masterpiece—a rich, off-the-shoulder gown that celebrated every breathtaking, voluptuous curve of her soft frame, cascading down into a ten-foot cathedral train embroidered with silver thread. Her dark hair was styled in a royal crown of curls, held in place by a tiara of black diamonds and platinum.
She carried no weapons, no aprons, no hidden knives.
She walked as a queen walking to her king.
When her hand was placed into Lorenzo’s, his massive fingers wrapped around hers with a fierce, trembling warmth that proved to the entire world that this hardened mafia king belonged completely to her.
"You take my breath away, my Donna," Lorenzo whispered into her ear as they faced the cardinal.
"You don't look so bad yourself, my King," Lydia whispered back, her hazel eyes shining with happy tears.
The ceremony was swift, ancient, and absolute.
When the cardinal declared them husband and wife, Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He pulled Lydia into his massive arms, dipping her low as he kissed her with an intoxicating, possessive passion that made the entire cathedral erupt into thunderous applause.
Mateo clicked his eye-tracker. His automated voice rang out clearly through the cathedral speakers:
Kiss her again, Lorenzo! She saved us both!
May you like
The crowd laughed, clapping louder, as Lorenzo lifted Lydia back onto her feet, holding her tight against his heart.
Sitting in the front row, Donna Isabella—who had spent six months watching Lydia manage the estate, protect Mateo, and command the syndicate with brilliant, lethal grace—quietly wiped a tear from her eye, bowing her head in total acceptance of her new Donna.
