Chapter 10 - Queen of the Blackwood Empire
Six months later.
The Cathedral of St. Jude was bathed in the warm glow of thousands of white candles and soft orchid flowers.
The city’s elite, now completely purged of corrupt elements, filled the pews. Sitting in the front row were Ivy’s two younger brothers, dressed in sharp tuxedos, smiling proudly through their tears, along with little Mia, who had been promoted to lead coordinator of the estate's charitable foundation.
The grand organ chimed, playing a triumphant march.
The heavy oak doors opened.
Ivy Lancaster walked down the aisle on the arm of her eldest brother.
She was a vision of breathtaking beauty. Her wedding dress was a custom masterpiece—off-the-shoulder white lace and heavy satin that embraced her full, magnificent hips, trailing a ten-foot embroidered train behind her. She wore her hair crowned with diamonds, looking every inch the Empress she had become.
At the altar stood Ronan Blackwood.
His storm-gray eyes were shiny with unshed tears as he watched his bride walk toward him. The ruthless mafia Don, feared by kings and syndicates across the globe, stood humbled by the pure beauty of the woman approaching him.
When her brother handed Ivy's hand to Ronan, Ronan leaned down and whispered, "You are taking my breath away."
"You look pretty handsome yourself, my Lord," Ivy teased softly.
"I told you," Ronan smirked gently, squeezing her hand, "don't call me that."
The priest spoke the sacred vows, but neither Ronan nor Ivy heard much of it. Their eyes were locked on each other, a universe of shared battles, quiet nights, and fierce love passing between them.
"I now pronounce you Husband and Wife," the priest announced. "You may kiss the bride."
Ronan didn't wait a second. He wrapped his arms around Ivy’s waist, pulling her full, soft body tight against his chest, and kissed her with a possessive, deep passion that brought the entire cathedral to its feet in thunderous applause.
Later that evening, at the grand reception held at the newly renovated Blackwood Fortress, Ronan stood on the balcony overlooking the sea, holding a glass of scotch.
Ivy walked out to join him, wrapped in a heavy white fur stole over her reception dress. She rested her head against his broad shoulder.
"What are you thinking about, husband?" she asked softly.
Ronan wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, feeling the steady warmth of her body.
"I’m thinking about the night I walked into that ballroom," Ronan murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I came home expecting to sign a business contract with a spoiled heiress. Instead, I found the woman who was born to rule by my side."
Ivy smiled, resting her hand over his tattooed forearm. "And what about the maid in the torn navy dress?"
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Ronan looked down at her, his eyes burning with eternal, fierce devotion.
"She wasn't a maid, Ivy," Ronan whispered gently, leaning down to press his lips against hers. "She was always my Queen."
