Chapter 4 - The Chicago Royalty
One Year Later
The ballroom of the Chicago Grand Hotel glittered beneath the exact same crystal chandeliers that had illuminated the room on the night I met Dominic. But tonight, I wasn't running around the perimeter with a clipboard, stressing over catering delays and donor seating charts.
Tonight, I was the guest of honor.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, wearing a custom, emerald-green silk gown that hugged my completely restored figure. Beside me stood Dominic, devastatingly handsome in a classic black tuxedo, his arm wrapped firmly and possessively around my waist.
Resting against his broad chest, strapped into a high-end baby carrier disguised by Dominic's tailored jacket, was our four-month-old son, Leo. Leo had his father's thick dark hair and my green eyes, and he was currently sleeping soundly despite the noise of the gala, completely unfazed by the powerful people milling about below.
"Ready, Mrs. Russo?" Dominic murmured, pressing a kiss to my bare shoulder.
"Always," I smiled, leaning into his warmth.
We descended the stairs. As we reached the ballroom floor, conversations stopped. Mayors, senators, and rival business moguls stepped aside, bowing their heads in deep, unmistakable respect. They weren't just respecting the mob boss; they were respecting the woman who had tamed him.
"You look beautiful tonight," Dominic said, keeping me close as a waiter rushed over to offer me a glass of sparkling cider.
"I feel beautiful," I replied honestly.
Across the room, near the service doors, I caught sight of a familiar face.
It was Derek.
He looked terrible. He was wearing an ill-fitting, cheap catering uniform, his posture slumped as he carried a tray of empty champagne flutes. His face was pale, his hair unkempt, and the designer swagger he used to carry was entirely gone.
The rumor mill had been kind enough to keep me updated on his spectacular downfall over the last year. After being fired from Horizon Financial and evicted from his apartment, word quickly spread through the financial sector that he had crossed Dominic Russo. He was completely blacklisted. No legitimate firm would hire him. Britney, realizing the money and the prestige were gone, had dumped him via text message two days later. Now, he was working double shifts for a catering agency just to afford a studio apartment outside the city limits.
Derek looked up from his tray. His eyes locked onto mine.
He saw the emerald gown. He saw the multi-million dollar diamond ring sparkling on my left hand. He saw the powerful, untouchable man standing beside me, and the beautiful, healthy baby resting against his chest.
For a second, Derek just stared, the absolute, crushing weight of his life's biggest mistake visible on his face.
I didn't gloat. I didn't smirk. I simply turned my head away, completely dismissing his existence. He wasn't even worth my anger anymore.
"Is the music too loud for him?" I asked, gently brushing my finger against Leo's soft cheek.
"He's a Russo," Dominic smiled softly, looking down at our sleeping son with a love so fierce it still took my breath away. "He sleeps through the noise. Just like his mother."
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Dominic pulled me into the center of the dance floor as a slow jazz number began to play. He held me and our son, moving us perfectly in time with the music, surrounded by a city he controlled and a life we had built together.
I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of the most dangerous man in Chicago—a heartbeat that beat exclusively, entirely, for us.
