Chapter 9 - The Navy Silk
Saturday afternoon arrived with a radiant, clear autumn sky.
The grand cathedral in downtown Chicago was packed with three hundred high-society guests for Chloe Miller’s lavish wedding. White lilies adorned every pew, string quartets played softly in the balcony, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and floral arrangements.
In the bridal holding room near the back of the cathedral, Eleanor was frantically adjusting Chloe’s veil.
"She’s late," Chloe snapped, adjusting her lace glove in the mirror. "Sadi is doing this on purpose. She wants to ruin my grand entrance."
"Now, now, dear," Eleanor soothed, though she was sweating nervously through her mother-of-the-bride dress. "I’m sure she’s just having trouble with transit—"
The heavy oak doors of the cathedral foyer swung open with a dramatic, heavy echo.
The chatter in the grand vestibule died down instantly.
Sadi Miller walked into the cathedral.
She looked like a goddess carved from dark silk and starlight. The custom navy blue dress hugged every single curve of her lush frame, the corset waist snatched, the slit revealing her long, smooth leg as she walked in six-inch black heels. Her dark hair fell in glossy, elegant waves over her shoulders, framing her glowing skin.
And resting on her chest, blazing violently under the stained-glass sunlight, was the multi-million-dollar yellow Rossi diamond.
Beside her, holding her hand with possessive, absolute authority, was Roman Rossi. He wore a crisp, immaculate black tuxedo, looking like a sovereign ruler stepping into a minor province.
Eleanor stood frozen in the doorway of the holding room, her mouth completely open, her eyes wide as saucers.
Chloe stared at her older sister, her jaw dropping, a mix of pure shock and burning jealousy flushing across her pale face. Sadi didn't look like the quiet, oversized maid who washed dishes in the dark. She looked like the undisputed queen of Chicago.
Derek sat in pew six, surrounded by his family. When Sadi walked past his row, he literally stood up half an inch, staring at her in absolute, stunned silence. Sadi didn't even glance at him. She walked past him as if he were made of thin air.
Roman guided Sadi to the front row on the bride's side—the seats reserved exclusively for immediate family.
As they sat down, Roman leaned close to her ear, his hand sliding over her silk-draped knee, his fingers squeezing her firm flesh.
"They are all staring at you," he murmured softly, his gray eyes shining with intense pride.
Sadi smiled—a real, radiant, confident smile that reached all the way to her dark eyes. She leaned her head gently against his broad, tuxedo-clad shoulder. "Let them stare, Mr. Rossi. I don't care anymore."
"Good," Roman whispered, kissing the top of her hair. "Because after this ceremony, we are leaving for my private estate in Capri. And I intend to spend the next two weeks removing that blue dress from your body."
Sadi’s cheeks flushed a bright, beautiful crimson, but she didn't blush out of shame. She turned her head, looking into the pale gray eyes of the most dangerous, terrifying, and deeply devoted man in the city.
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"Is that an order, Boss?" she teased softly.
Roman’s hand slid further up her inner thigh, his thumb brushing against her skin beneath the silk. "It is a promise, Sadi."
