Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
By midnight, the Blackwood Hotel was cleared. The rival faction had been systematically dismantled without a single gunshot fired inside the ballroom, cementing Elias Marchetti’s absolute authority over the entirety of Chicago’s underworld.
The night air was crisp and cold as Elias and Maeve stepped out onto the private balcony of the hotel's penthouse suite. The city stretched out beneath them—a dazzling sea of yellow and white lights reflecting off the dark surface of Lake Michigan.
Maeve leaned against the velvet-covered railing, looking out at the skyline. The heavy emerald dress felt lighter now, as if the suffocating weight she had been carrying for weeks had finally vanished into the night sky.
Elias walked up beside her, two glasses of sparkling champagne in his hands. He handed one to her, his fingers brushing against hers.
"It's over," Maeve murmured, looking down at the golden bubbles in her glass. "The Ashfords are ruined. Your enemies are defeated. And my brother... he's recovering safely in the hospital."
"Yes," Elias said softly, turning his body to face her. "It is over."
A brief silence settled between them—not cold or tense, but filled with an unspoken emotion that had been growing since the moment she stood in front of his wheelchair.
"So," Maeve said, trying to smile, though a faint pang of sadness touched her heart. "I suppose... I should pack my things tomorrow. You gave me my brother's life, Elias. I will forever be in your debt, but your fake marriage is finished."
Elias set his glass down on the stone ledge. He reached out, catching her hands in his, pulling her a step closer to him.
"Who said it was fake?" Elias asked, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense warmth.
Maeve blinked, startled. "What?"
"The contract signed in that church had the name Sienna Ashford," Elias said, his voice dropping into a low, intimate murmur. "It was built on lies, ambition, and greed. I don't want that marriage."
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He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He opened it to reveal a simple, exquisitely cut diamond ring—not the gaudy twelve-carat ring Sienna had discarded, but a delicate, timeless piece that caught the moonlight brilliantly.
"I want a real one," Elias said softly. "With Maeve Donnelly."
