Chương 10 - THE CROWN OF THE EMPIRE
One year later.
The grand ballroom of the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo was illuminated by thousands of crystal lights reflecting off the Mediterranean Sea outside the floor-to-ceiling French doors. High-ranking European ministers, international shipping titans, Vatican diplomats, and Wall Street magnates filled the room, holding crystal flutes of champagne in quiet celebration.
Tonight wasn't just a corporate gala. It was the official ratification of the Russo-Vatican Global Trade Treaty—a multi-billion-dollar maritime accord that solidified our shipping empire across three continents.
And at the center of it all stood me.
I wore a floor-length, backless platinum evening gown that caught the amber light of the chandeliers, my dark hair styled in soft waves framing my face. On my left ring finger, the antique diamond fountain-pen ring caught every sparkle of light in the room.
As Dominic and I walked down the grand marble staircase, the applause that rose from the crowd wasn’t out of fear or nervous obligation. It was absolute, genuine reverence.
We reached the dais, where Monsignor Bellini stood waiting alongside the Prime Minister of Monaco to present the final, leather-bound ratification document.
“Dr. Casey Miller,” Monsignor Bellini announced, his voice echoing clearly across the opulent ballroom. “For your unmatched scholarship, your unwavering defense of international jurisprudence, and your visionary leadership in global trade, we present the permanent seal of the Mediterranean Maritime Alliance.”
The applause swelled into a thunderous ovation. People stood from their velvet chairs, raising their glasses toward us.
I stepped forward, opened the heavy leather folio, and pulled out my solid gold Montblanc fountain pen—the same pen I had pulled out of my apron at Maison Étoile on East Sixty-First Street one year ago. With a steady, unshakeable hand, I signed my name at the bottom of the treaty: Dr. Casey Miller, Managing Partner & Chief Legal Counsel.
Dominic stepped up beside me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close against him. He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear as the flashbulbs of international photographers illuminated the ballroom.
“You know,” Dominic murmured softly, his dark eyes shining with immense pride and burning love, “when you walked up to my table with that water carafe a year ago, I thought you were just another clever waitress trying to survive a hard night in Manhattan.”
I smiled, turning my face up to meet his gaze, the diamonds on my ring catching the light.
“And what do you think now, Mr. Russo?” I whispered.
Dominic smiled, pulling me flush against his chest as the orchestra struck up a triumphant waltz.
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“I think,” Dominic whispered, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, “that hiring the smartest woman in New York was the greatest coup of my entire life.”
The music swelled, filling the grand ballroom of Monte Carlo as we took our first turn around the floor—two equals, two partners, ruling an empire built not on cruelty or shouting, but on absolute intellect, unbreakable loyalty, and a fountain pen that had changed the world.
