Chapter 8 - The Queen of the Estate
Six months later.
The Grand Ballroom of the Whitmore estate was filled with light, classical music, and hundreds of high-profile guests.
Senators, business leaders, international diplomats, and former syndicate captains who had successfully transitioned into legitimate corporate leaders were gathered to celebrate the wedding of Grant Whitmore and Claire Bennett.
Claire walked down the grand marble staircase in a breathtaking white lace gown, her hand resting gracefully on Grant’s arm.
At the front of the room, standing beside Dominic—who served as Grant’s best man—was little Lily, wearing a beautiful pink flower-girl dress. Sitting right beside her, wearing a neat black bow tie attached to his collar, was Atlas.
The guests watched in awe as the once-dreaded master of the underworld stood before the altar, holding his bride’s hands with gentle reverence.
“By the authority vested in me,” the judge announced with a warm smile, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The ballroom erupted into applause and cheers.
Grant pulled Claire into his arms, kissing his new bride as the crowd stood to honor the new Queen of the Whitmore empire.
Later that evening, as the party moved out onto the illuminated garden terraces, Grant sat on a stone bench under a canopy of white roses, holding a glass of champagne.
Dominic walked over, handing Grant a quiet leather report.
“The Northern Syndicate is completely dismantled, boss,” Dominic reported in a low voice. “Their assets have been liquidated and absorbed into our legitimate foundation. The streets are quiet. There isn't a single person in this country who would dare raise a hand against your family.”
“Good,” Grant said, closing the report without reading it. “Because starting tomorrow, I’m taking six months off.”
Dominic blinked in shock. “Six months? You’ve never taken six days off in your entire life!”
Grant looked across the lawn.
Claire was sitting near the fountain with Maria—the new head of estate staff—laughing and sharing cake. Nearby, Ethan, the son of one of Grant’s loyal security men, was playing fetch with Lily and Atlas.
Atlas trotted slowly across the lawn, caught a soft tennis ball in his mouth, and walked directly over to Grant, placing the ball gently on Grant’s knee.
May you like
Grant smiled, picking up the ball and scratching the big dog right behind his ears—in the exact spot Lily had touched a year ago on those freezing stones.
“I have better things to do now, Dominic,” Grant said softly.
