Chapter 15 - The Hudson Vows
The wedding took place three months later on a brilliant, crisp October afternoon when the maple trees along the Hudson River turned brilliant shades of copper and gold.
It wasn't a society spectacle broadcast to the Times or crowded with federal judges and political vultures.
It was held on the stone terrace of the Moretti estate, surrounded by white hydrangeas, rolling green lawns, and forty people who actually mattered: Rossi, Mrs. Hargrove, Antonio and his Sicilian delegation, and a handful of trusted dock supervisors who had watched Vincent change from a shadow lord into a man who smiled when his daughter tried to feed the wedding cake to the photographer.
Lily walked down the aisle ahead of me, wearing a miniature white lace dress and scattering autumn leaves with absolute, theatrical concentration, her rabbit-ear hair clip secured firmly with a bright red ribbon.
When I reached the end of the stone aisle, holding onto my father’s old silver pocket watch in my left pocket and my hand resting on Vincent’s arm, the world felt entirely still.
Vincent wore a custom black tuxedo, his silver tie clip catching the autumn sunlight, his dark eyes locked onto mine with a fierce, quiet devotion that made the distance between our old lives vanish completely.
As the judge pronounced us husband and wife, Vincent didn’t wait for the applause. He pulled me against his chest, his lips capturing mine in a deep, absolute kiss that silenced the terrace.
From the front row, Lily gave a loud, enthusiastic round of applause and announced to the entire gathering:
“He’s my new dad now! And he has to buy me ice cream!”
Laughter rippled across the terrace, warm and golden, rolling down toward the river where the cargo ships blew their low, steady horns in salute.
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We had made it off the kitchen floor.
And we were never, ever going back.
