Chapter 9 – THE NEW MATRIARCH
Six months later, the Russo mansion didn’t feel like a fortress anymore. It felt like a home.
The heavy, dark drapes that had suffocated the windows during Celia’s reign were gone, replaced by sheer white curtains that let the morning sun pour over the hardwood floors.
I sat at the massive oak dining table, reviewing the final blueprints for the Michael Russo Memorial Children’s Clinic. The foundation had grown faster than I could have imagined.
“Aunt Emily!”
I looked up just in time to catch Leo as he barreled into the dining room, his school uniform tie slightly askew. He was seven now, his cheeks flushed with healthy color, the fear in his dark eyes completely erased.
“Hey, buddy,” I laughed, hugging him tight. “How was school?”
“I got an A on my spelling test,” he beamed, pulling a crumpled paper from his backpack.
“We got an A,” a gruff voice corrected from the doorway.
Dominic leaned against the doorframe, wearing a tailored navy suit, but his tie was loosened, and he looked more relaxed than the day I met him.
“I helped him study for two hours last night. ‘Accommodation’ is a very hard word to spell.”
I smiled, my heart doing that familiar flutter it did whenever he looked at me. “I’m proud of both of you.”
Mrs. Russo walked in, carrying a tray of fresh cookies. She wasn’t using a wheelchair, and she certainly wasn’t pretending to be confused. She wore an elegant cream dress, her silver hair perfectly styled. She was the absolute matriarch of the family, and everyone in Chicago knew it.
“Leave the girl alone to work, Dominic,” she teased, setting the tray down. “And Leo, go wash your hands.”
As Leo ran off, Dominic walked over and pulled out the chair next to mine. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
“You work too hard,” he murmured.
“We break ground on the clinic next week,” I reminded him. “I want it to be perfect.”
“It will be.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
I froze.
“Dominic?”
He opened it. Inside was a stunning, vintage diamond ring.
“This was my grandmother’s,” he said softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Emily, you brought light back into this house. You brought my family back together. You saved my soul. I don’t want you to just run my foundation. I want you to be my wife.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I looked at the man who had terrified me a year ago, who I now loved more than life itself.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He slid the ring onto my finger, pulling me into a deep, passionate kiss.
From the kitchen, I heard Mrs. Russo clap her hands in delight.
I finally had a family. And no locked doors would ever separate us again.
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