Chapter 15 - THE FAMILY TABLE
|
Six months later, on a breathtaking Saturday in June, the Moretti estate was alive with music, flowers, and pure celebration.
The grand terrace overlooking Lake Michigan had been transformed into an open-air cathedral draped in white silk and cascading blush roses.
Over four hundred guests were seated in the golden afternoon sunlight: syndicate leaders, community organizers, nurses from St. Jude, and neighbors from Humboldt Park.
At the front of the altar stood Dominic Moretti.
He wore an impeccably tailored black tuxedo with a white rose in his lapel, his dark hair swept back, looking every inch a king who had found his kingdom.
Standing beside him as his best man was Marco, his arm fully healed, smiling with immense pride.
Sitting in the front row was Don Carmine Falcone, clapping his ancient hands with genuine warmth.
The wedding march began, played by a live string quartet.
Down the white carpeted aisle walked Maisie Moretti, serving as the maid of honor.
She wore a breathtaking ivory dress with a pink silk sash that matched her favorite old cardigan, and in her hair was pinned a delicate, golden sunflower pin.
She carried a basket of white rose petals, grinning from ear to ear as she tossed them toward the cheering guests.
And then, the entire assembly rose to their feet.
I stepped onto the terrace aisle, holding a bouquet of wild lilies and white roses.
I wore a custom-designed French lace gown with an off-the-shoulder neckline and a cathedral train that floated like sea foam across the stone.
The emerald ring on my finger sparkled brilliantly in the midday sun.
When Dominic looked down the aisle and saw me, a tear slipped unashamedly down his rugged, handsome cheek.
He didn't wait for me to reach the altar.
Dominic walked three paces down the steps to meet me halfway, taking both of my hands into his with an awe so profound that the entire crowd held its breath.
“You are my miracle, Claire,” Dominic whispered, his voice trembling with deep devotion.
“And you are my home, Dominic,” I replied softly.
We walked together to the altar, exchanging simple, honest vows spoken from the depths of our souls.
When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, Dominic pulled me into his arms and kissed me with a passion so fierce and tender that thunderous cheers echoed across the lake.
Maisie bounded forward, throwing her arms around both of our waists, laughing with pure, radiant joy.
“We did it, Mommy!” Maisie cheered, her hazel eyes shining like diamonds.
“Now we have the same last name!”
Dominic scooped Maisie up in one arm, keeping his other arm wrapped securely around my waist.
“We were always the same family, baby,” Dominic said, kissing her forehead and then kissing my lips once more.
Later that evening, the celebration moved inside to the grand dining room.
The very room where this journey had begun six months earlier.
The massive mahogany table was covered in fine white linen, sparkling crystal, and platters of fresh, delicious food.
At the head of the table sat Maisie.
Beside her sat Dominic, and beside him sat Claire.
The staff, the guards, and our dearest friends sat together around the banquet, laughing, eating, and sharing stories in warm, uncomplicated harmony.
Maisie reached out, picked up a warm, golden brioche roll from the silver basket, and took a big, happy bite.
Nobody yelled at her.
Nobody snatched the food from her hands.
Nobody told her she hadn't earned her place.
Dominic smiled, reaching across the table to interlock his fingers with mine.
I looked at my husband, looked at my daughter, and looked around the magnificent room that was now filled with love instead of fear.
I had entered this house as a frightened housemaid carrying forty-three dollars in my pocket.
Tonight, I sat as the beloved Donna of the Moretti dynasty, surrounded by the people who had fought to make us whole.
The bread was sweet.
May you like
The table was full.
And our family was finally home.
