Chapter 15 - THE QUEEN OF BELLAMY HOUSE
-15-
One year later.
The grand ballroom of Bellamy House was bathed in the warm, golden glow of a thousand candles, glittering off crystal chandeliers that stretched across the vaulted ceilings. Tonight was not a Michelin-starred dinner service for wealthy investors or high-society elites; it was a private, joyous celebration of an entirely different kind.
The room was filled with laughter, the soft clinking of champagne flutes, and the rich, comforting scent of Beatrice Moretti’s famous homemade lasagna.
At the center head table sat Beatrice, wearing a stunning black velvet dress adorned with diamond brooches, signing rapid, animated jokes to the elderly guests seated around her, her face lit up with a brilliant, permanent smile.
And standing near the grand staircase, wearing a breathtaking, off-the-shoulder white lace gown that looked like it belonged in a royal wedding, was Harper.
She wasn't a back waitress anymore. She wasn't a frightened fugitive running from federal agents in an alleyway.
She was Harper Moretti—co-owner of Bellamy House, executive director of the foundation, and the undisputed queen of the New York underworld.
The heavy mahogany doors of the ballroom swung open, and the live jazz band struck up a slow, romantic melody.
Roman stepped out from the shadows of the foyer, wearing a tailored midnight-blue tuxedo, looking every bit the untouchable mafia emperor. But as his dark obsidian eyes locked onto Harper standing by the staircase, the cold, ruthless warlord vanished entirely, replaced by a man completely, helplessly devoted to the woman who had brought his family back to life.
He crossed the polished parquet floor in long, confident strides, stopping right in front of her. He didn't say a word. He simply reached out, taking her trembling hand in his, and pulled her close against his chest.
"You look breathtaking, Harper," Roman whispered, his deep baritone rumbling against her ear with a raw, intense tenderness that made her breath catch.
"You clean up nice yourself, Mr. Moretti," Harper teased softly, a radiant, brilliant smile breaking across her face. "Though I have to warn you—if you ever hire another waitress and make her sign a non-disclosure agreement before she meets your mother, I'm firing you."
Roman chuckled, pressing his lips softly to hers in a deep, possessive kiss that made the cheering crowd around them fade into a meaningless blur.
Across the room, Beatrice watched them from her seat, raising a glass of champagne in a silent, triumphant toast, her eyes shining with absolute joy.
Harper pulled back slightly, resting her hands against the lapels of Roman’s tuxedo, looking out over the crowded ballroom filled with people who respected her, loved her, and would burn the world down to keep her safe.
She thought back to the cold, lonely nights in Queens, the broken apartment, the fear of the dark, and the day she dropped a wineglass at 8:17 p.m.
She had thought her life was over that night.
Instead, it was just beginning.
"Ready for our first dance as a married couple, Mrs. Moretti?" Roman asked, his dark eyes burning with an unyielding, eternal devotion.
May you like
Harper smiled, looping her arms securely around his neck.
"Lead the way, Mr. Moretti," she whispered, and together, they stepped out onto the ballroom floor, walking proudly into the bright, beautiful future they had forged from the fire.
