Stole My Sister, Stole My Ring: Then His Mafia Boss Brother Offered Me Revenge

Six months later.

The cathedral of St. James in downtown Chicago was bathed in brilliant afternoon sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows. White roses and orchids lined the long marble aisle, filled with over five hundred guests—business moguls, foreign dignitaries, and every powerful family in the Midwest.

I stood behind the heavy oak doors, wearing a custom ivory silk wedding gown with a dramatic ten-foot train, holding a bouquet of white calla lilies.

Penny, my best friend, stood beside me as my maid of honor, wiping away a happy tear. "You look like a goddess, Evie. I swear, your mother is probably weeping into her tiny apartment sink right now."

I smiled gently into the mirror. I felt no bitterness toward my family anymore. They were a closed chapter of my past. I had built a new life—one where I was valued, respected, and loved.

The grand organ chimed, playing the opening notes of the bridal processional.

The oak doors swung open.

I walked down the marble aisle alone, my head held high, my posture regal. I didn't need a father to give me away. I was taking my own destiny.

At the altar stood Nikolai.

He looked devastatingly handsome in a bespoke black tuxedo, his eyes fixed on me with a fierce, burning devotion that made the rest of the world vanish. Standing beside him as his best man was his head of security, Marcus. In the front row sat Don Vincenzo, looking proud and regal, wearing a white rose on his lapel.

When I reached the altar, Nikolai stepped down to take my hand. His touch was warm, solid, and steady.

"You took my breath away," he whispered softly for my ears only.

"I intend to keep doing that for the rest of our lives," I replied softly.

The priest spoke the ancient vows of marriage, but the true promise was written in the quiet look shared between us—a promise of loyalty, power, and unending love forged through trial and triumph.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declared. "You may kiss the bride."

Nikolai pulled me gently into his arms, dipping me slightly as his lips met mine in a passionate, breathtaking kiss. The cathedral erupted into thunderous applause, cheering for the new king and queen of Chicago.

When we stepped out onto the cathedral steps, bright sunshine bathed us in warmth. Dozens of news cameras flashed, reporters shouted, and the crowd cheered.

Nikolai wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close to his side as we descended the stone steps toward our waiting black limousine.

I looked up at him—the man who had seen me when I was invisible, who had given me a throne when I was broken, and who loved me for the sharp, brilliant woman I was.

"Where to, Mrs. Moretti?" Nikolai asked, his gray eyes dancing with love and light.