Chapter 10 - The Sovereign Ledger
One year after the wedding at Holy Name Cathedral, the Pierce organization held its annual winter gala at the Chicago Cultural Center.
Under the breathtaking Tiffany stained-glass dome—the largest in the world—three hundred guests gathered in black-tie attire. The mayor was there. The governor’s chief of staff was there. The heads of the Great Lakes shipping syndicates, the presidents of the commercial banks, and the captains of every precinct from Evanston to Gary stood beneath the golden mosaic arches, drinking champagne and speaking in hushed, reverent tones.
The violence that had haunted the city for five years had ended.
With Marcus Vance serving twenty-five years in federal prison and the Beaumont family stripped of their assets, Dominic Pierce had unified the transport lines, modernizing the port facilities and bringing an unprecedented era of stability to the region’s commerce.
A string quartet played softly near the grand marble staircase.
I stood on the mezzanine balcony, looking down at the glittering sea of tuxedos and evening gowns.
I wore an emerald velvet dress—custom-designed this time, cutting a sleek, breathtaking silhouette that accentuated every curve fashion magazines pretended didn't exist. Around my neck hung the sapphire and diamond pendant Dominic had purchased for a bride who never deserved it.
Nobody looked through me anymore.
When I walked through the ballroom, men stepped aside with hurried, respectful bows. When I spoke, bank presidents took out their pens and wrote down every word. The city had learned that while Dominic Pierce commanded the legions, Beatrice Gallagher commanded the coin that fed them.
A step clicked on the marble behind me.
Dominic walked out onto the balcony, holding two flutes of vintage champagne. He looked striking in his black tuxedo, his dark hair touched with the faintest dusting of silver at the temples, his commanding presence drawing every eye from the floor below.
He handed me a glass, his knuckles brushing against mine with that familiar, electric heat that had never dimmed over the past twelve months.
“You’re hiding on the balcony again, Miss Gallagher,” he said, a teasing lilt in his low voice.
“I’m observing my assets, Mr. Pierce,” I replied, looking out over the crowded ballroom below. “The Fourth Ward transport contract was signed this afternoon. We’ve secured sixty percent of the rail freight through Milwaukee, and the pension fund you restored for the dockworkers yielded eight percent this quarter.”
Dominic chuckled, a rich, warm sound that vibrated against the marble balustrade. “Even under a Tiffany dome, you’re still counting the stones in the road.”
“Someone has to make sure the road doesn't crumble beneath your boots,” I said, turning to face him.
Dominic set his champagne glass on the stone railing. He stepped closer, his large hands resting lightly on my waist, pulling me against the broad strength of his chest. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with an unyielding devotion that had become my fortress.
“One year ago tonight,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes, “you whispered three words to me on a ballroom floor that saved my life.”
“Don’t marry her,” I whispered, my heart fluttering against my ribs with the very same fire that had driven me to grab his lapel.
“Best advice an accountant ever gave me,” Dominic said softly.
He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small, square velvet box.
He didn't kneel. Men like Dominic Pierce didn't kneel to kings or emperors. But he held the box out to me with both hands, his fingers steady, offering me everything he was and everything he would ever build.
The box clicked open.
Inside rested an antique platinum ring, set with a flawless emerald cut from the deepest green stone I had ever seen, flanked by two brilliant triangular diamonds that caught the light of the stained-glass dome above us.
“Marry me, Beatrice,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into that deep, resonant timbre that commanded armies and silenced rooms. “Not for a peace treaty. Not for an alliance. Not for a ledger. Marry me because you are the only soul in this city that makes me whole.”
I looked down at the ring, the radiant green stone matching the velvet of my dress—the color my father had told me made my brown eyes look fearless.
I looked up at Dominic, the most dangerous man in Chicago, the man who had burned my ticket to Lisbon so he could give me an empire.
I didn't hesitate. I didn't calculate the risk. For the first time in my life, the balance sheet was completely, beautifully irrelevant.
May you like
I reached out, placing my hand over his heart, my fingers curling gently into the lapel of his tuxedo.
“Yes,” I whispered against his lips as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me into the warmth of a life where I would never be invisible again. “Yes, Dominic. Always yes.”
