Chapter 7 - The Master’s Table
Two weeks after the canal ambush, the city of Chicago learned what happened when Cormac Riley’s inner world was threatened.
The rival crime family from Milwaukee that had ordered the strike on June’s transport van was dismantled in less than ten days—not through street violence, but through a terrifyingly methodical financial, legal, and operational execution that stripped their leadership of every ship, warehouse, bank account, and commercial license they owned in the state of Illinois.
June spent her recovery in the master suite of Cormac’s Kenwood estate.
She wasn't allowed to lift a spoon, let alone scrub a metal pot. Cormac had hired two private nurses to care for her forehead lacerations and bruised ribs, while his personal security detail was doubled around the perimeter of the property.
On a warm, sunny afternoon in mid-December, June stood in front of the full-length mirror in the estate’s dressing room.
She was no longer wearing her faded blue-and-white cotton dress or her grease-stained apron. She wore a tailored wool dress of deep burgundy silk, cut with an elegant boat-neck that sat gracefully across her shoulders. Her chestnut hair had been cut and styled into soft, elegant waves that framed her face, highlighting her deep brown eyes and the small, neat silver scar near her eyebrow—the only remaining mark of the canal attack.
She looked at her reflection. She didn't see an old woman. She didn't see a broken cleaning lady. She saw a striking, formidable woman who held herself with absolute dignity and power.
The door behind her opened gently.
Cormac walked into the room, wearing a dark gray tuxedo over a crisp white dress shirt. He stood behind her, his large hands resting gently on her waist, looking at her reflection in the glass beside his own.
“You look breathtaking, June,” Cormac whispered softly against her ear.
June turned around in his arms, resting her hands against his broad chest. “Where are we going, Cormac? You still haven't told me why I’m dressed like a diplomat’s wife.”
Cormac smiled—a warm, radiant smile that completely transformed his stern face.
“Tonight is the annual Cook County Commercial Hospitality Gala at the Drake Hotel downtown,” Cormac said smoothly. “Every mayor, judge, developer, and restaurant owner in the state will be sitting in the grand ballroom.”
June blinked in surprise. “And you want me to cater it?”
Cormac laughed softly—a deep, resonant sound that filled the room.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, heavy velvet box. He flipped the cap open, revealing a breathtaking platinum ring set with a single, cushion-cut emerald surrounded by micro-pave diamonds that sparkled under the room lights.
June’s breath hitched in her throat.
“I don't want you to cater it, June,” Cormac said, taking the ring out of the box and stepping closer to her, his pale gray eyes burning with unconditional love and absolute commitment. “I want you to walk through the front doors on my arm as the new chairwoman of the Riley Culinary Foundation, and as my wife.”
June stared at the brilliant green emerald, then looked up into the eyes of the man who had found her crying beside a locked diner door five months ago.
“I’m forty-eight, Cormac,” June whispered, a soft, happy tear finally slipping down her cheek. “I’m a widow who spent twenty-three years scrubbing grease off steel floors.”
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Cormac reached up, his hand gently catching the tear with his thumb, pressing the heavy platinum ring onto her left ring finger where it fitted with absolute perfection.
“You are June Holloway,” Cormac whispered softly, pulling her lips to his in a deep, magnificent kiss that tasted of salt, wine, and eternal devotion. “And you are the queen of my life.”
