Chapter 9 - The Recovery
By spring, the storm over Chicago had completely settled.
The Moretti faction was entirely dismantled by federal indictments. Victoria Vescari had been stripped of her board status and exiled to a small estate in Europe, while Uncle Dominic retired quietly, terrified of Julian's intelligence network.
The Vescari syndicate was no longer a secret mob outfit running guns in the dark; Julian had systematically converted every single enterprise into legitimate, high-yielding corporate ventures.
I sat in the mansion's sunlit garden, holding a tablet, reviewing the quarterly earnings of Vescari Logistics.
A soft step sounded on the gravel path behind me.
I turned my head—and my breath completely stopped in my throat.
Standing five feet away, wearing a crisp white dress shirt and dark trousers, was Julian.
He wasn't sitting in his wheelchair.
He was standing on his own two feet, leaning lightly on an elegant silver-topped cane, his legs shaking slightly with exertion, but his posture tall, imposing, and magnificent.
"Julian!" I gasped, dropping my tablet onto the grass, rushing toward him. "What are you doing?! Your physical therapist said—"
"My physical therapist said I needed a reason to push through the pain," Julian interrupted softly, offering a breathtaking, radiant smile.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward with his right leg, then his left, closing the distance between us until he was standing inches from me, towering at his full six-foot-two height.
I looked up at him in absolute wonder, tears springing to my eyes. "How long have you been practicing?"
"Three months," Julian revealed, reaching out with his free hand to gently cup my cheek. "Ever since the night I kissed you in my room. I promised myself I would stand on my own two feet the day I asked you to be my wife."
My heart did a violent, ecstatic somersault in my chest. "Julian..."
Julian slowly slid down onto one knee in the soft grass of the garden, holding his cane with one hand, his dark eyes fixed entirely on mine with an intensity that took my breath away.
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a flawless, five-carat emerald diamond set in platinum.
"Clara Miller," Julian said, his voice deep, rich, and trembling with raw, unfiltered love. "You jumped into twelve feet of freezing water to save a man you thought was your enemy. You gave me back my life, my honor, and my heart. Will you stand beside me as my wife, my equal, and my queen?"
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I dropped down onto my knees beside him on the grass, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck.
May you like
"Yes!" I wept happily, kissing his cheeks, his lips, his forehead. "Yes, Julian! A thousand times yes!"
Julian pulled me tightly against his chest, holding me as if I were the rarest treasure in the universe, his deep laugh echoing through the blooming spring garden.
