Chapter 6 - The Rose on Gold CoastSix months after the afternoon at the Drake Hotel, the warm autumn sun painted the sky over Lake Michigan in brilliant shades of rose, gold, and deep sapphire.
The dark, corrupt empire of Marcus Moretti was permanently erased, his shipping docks integrated into the Gallagher Maritime Logistics Network, while David was sentenced to eight years in a federal maximum-security facility.
Meanwhile, my life with Roman transformed into a radiant, sunlit reality.
I no longer worked nine-hour shifts at the Onyx Club or worried about four-hundred-dollar rent deficits. I served as the Chief Executive Director of the Clara Vance Foundation for Women's Economic Independence—a fifty-million-dollar trust funded by Roman to provide free housing, legal defense, and job training for working-class women across Illinois.
On a warm, clear Saturday afternoon in late October, the oceanfront terrace of our estate on Gold Coast was decorated with blooming white orchids, yellow sunflowers, and sunlit champagne for our official wedding celebration.
Over two hundred prominent business leaders, legal directors, family captains, and close friends gathered around white-linen tables set up along the stone patio, enjoying fine food and live acoustic music.
I stood near the marble balustrade wearing a breathtaking, floor-length ivory silk wedding gown designed to celebrate every curve of my frame. My dark hair fell in glossy waves over my shoulders, my hazel eyes shining with absolute, unshakeable happiness.
Down on my left hand rested a seven-carat flawless emerald-cut diamond engagement ring set beside the Gallagher signet band.
Roman walked out onto the terrace wearing an immaculate black tuxedo, stepping up behind me, wrapping his broad, warm arms around my waist, pulling my back flush against his solid chest.
He pressed a sweet, lingering kiss against my temple, his storm-gray eyes shining with an absolute, unshakeable devotion.
"What are you thinking about, my queen?" Roman whispered softly into my ear.
I looked out over the vast, sparkling blue waters of Lake Michigan stretching before us into the unbroken horizon, feeling a deep, weightless peace settle into every corner of my soul.
"I was thinking about Booth Four," I answered softly, turning in his arms to rest my hands against his broad chest. "When I dropped the napkin and called you 'baby' by mistake."
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Roman offered a rare, breathtaking smile—a look of pure, eternal love that lit up his handsome, severe face.
"You didn't make a mistake, Clara," Roman promised, leaning down to press his lips softly, fiercely against mine in a deep, unhurried kiss. "You just claimed your husband."
