Chapter 7 - The Garden of White RosesAt midnight, after the last of the guests had departed and the grand mansion fell into a peaceful, golden quiet, Alina and I walked out onto the stone terrace overlooking the private gardens behind the estate.
The moon was full, casting a soft, silver illumination across the dark green grass.
Row upon row of blooming white roses stretched across the estate garden, their sweet, delicate fragrance filling the cool autumn night air.
I wrapped my broad wool coat around Alina’s shoulders from behind, pulling her back against my chest, resting my chin softly atop her head. We stood together in the quiet night, listening to the gentle rustle of the wind through the oak trees.
Alina reached up, resting her hands over mine where they held her waist.
“Do you remember what you told me six months ago, Dante?” she murmured softly, looking out at the sea of white roses.
“I told you a lot of things, sweetheart,” I smiled against her hair.
“You told me you were going to burn this entire city to ash before you let me die for a lie,” she reminded me, her voice filled with deep, profound tenderness.
I turned her around in my arms, looking down into her hazel eyes—eyes that no longer held a single trace of fear, secret grief, or cold isolation.
I reached into my inner jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, and opened it before her under the moonlight.
Inside rested a stunning, platinum band set with a rare, flawless oval-cut diamond surrounded by two small white rose sapphire stones—a ring I had custom-designed to replace the simple gold band from our political wedding three years ago.
“I burned the lies, Alina,” I whispered, sliding the sparkling ring onto her finger, where it caught the moonlight in a brilliant flare of color. “And built a home out of the ashes.”
Tears of pure, unadulterated happiness spilled over her eyelashes, reflecting the silver light.
“It’s beautiful, Dante,” she choked out, throwing her arms around my neck, pulling my mouth down to hers.
I pulled her tight against my chest, lifting her slightly off her feet, kissing her with a deep, consuming passion that sealed our promise under the Chicago sky.
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The ghosts were buried. The poison was gone. The empire was unbroken.
And as the sweet scent of white roses filled the night air, I knew that the man who had once been feared by an entire city had finally found the only kingdom that truly mattered—in the arms of the woman who had saved his life.
