Chapter 7 - The Brightest FlameThe wedding was held one year later, not in a grand, stuffy ballroom with whispered rumors and judging glances, but in the sunlit courtyard of the Upper East Side townhouse, surrounded by a mountain of crimson roses that I had designed myself.
Sophie and her husband were in the front row, cheering wildly, while Sofia stood proudly as my maid of honor, holding a bouquet of deep red peonies. There were no hidden exits, no checking for smoke alarms, and no shadows lingering in the corners of the room.
When I walked down the aisle in a gown of simple, elegant silk that swept softly across the flagstone patio, Vincent was waiting at the altar. He wore a classic black tuxedo, but the formidable, untouchable aura of Manhattan’s most dangerous man had been entirely replaced by the radiant, glowing smile of a man who had found his home.
As my hand slid into his, the afternoon sun broke through the autumn clouds, bathing the entire garden in a warm, golden light.
"You look breathtaking," Vincent murmured as we stood before the officiant.
May you like
"You don't look so bad yourself, Mr. Russo," I teased softly, my eyes shining with happiness.
When the vows were exchanged and the ring slipped smoothly onto my finger, the applause of our friends and family filled the crisp New York air. As Vincent pulled me close for our first kiss as husband and wife, the cheers erupted around us, but all I could hear was the steady, grounding heartbeat of the man who had taught me that not all fires destroy. Some fires simply burn away the dark, leaving room for a lifetime of light.
