Chapter 7 - The Marriage That Was Never Supposed to Become Love
Six months after our wedding, Dominic took me back to the same private chapel.
I stopped outside.
“What are we doing here?”
“You complain constantly.”
“I provide constructive criticism.”
“You specifically complained about our wedding.”
“It lasted eight minutes.”
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
“The priest spoke slowly.”
I laughed.
Inside, the chapel was different.
No attorney.
No guards standing beside the altar.
No contract.
Just Dominic.
Me.
Teresa.
Anthony.
Dr. Helen Carter.
And the same elderly priest.
I looked at Dominic.
“What did you do?”
He reached into his pocket.
My stomach flipped.
“Dominic.”
He held out a ring.
Not enormous.
Not designed to announce his wealth.
Simple.
Elegant.
“You already gave me one.”
“That one belonged to the contract.”
His voice softened.
“This one doesn't.”
The priest quietly stepped away, giving us space.
Dominic took my hand.
His fingers were steady now.
I noticed immediately.
He noticed me noticing.
“No shaking,” I whispered.
“Not today.”
He looked down at my fingernails.
There were dark herbal stains beneath them again.
He smiled.
“The first time I saw those, I thought you'd been gardening.”
“You never asked.”
“I've made worse mistakes.”
“A few.”
“I thought I needed a woman who knew nothing.”
His thumb brushed my hand.
“Instead, I married the first person who actually saw me.”
The chapel became completely silent.
“You saw the drinking.”
He continued.
“The pills. The scars. The anger.”
His eyes met mine.
“And you stayed.”
“I stayed after you gave me the choice.”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
“I know.”
Dominic took a breath.
“So this time, I'm asking properly.”
He lowered himself onto one knee.
I stared at him.
Somewhere behind us, Anthony whispered, “Nobody is going to believe this.”
Teresa elbowed him.
Dominic ignored them.
“Callie Bennett Russo, there is no debt anymore.”
My eyes burned.
“No contract.”
He squeezed my hand.
“No obligation.”
His voice became quieter.
“Will you choose me again?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Dominic remained there.
I raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You're supposed to let me finish.”
“You talk too slowly.”
Helen laughed behind us.
Dominic stood.
“I'm reconsidering.”
“No, you're not.”
“No.”
He slipped the ring onto my finger.
“I'm really not.”
The priest performed the ceremony again.
This time, nobody signed anything afterward.
When the priest smiled and said, “You may kiss the bride,” Dominic looked at me.
“May I?”
“You're learning.”
Then I kissed my husband.
Months later, the Russo estate felt different.
The cameras remained.
So did the gates.
Dominic still had enemies.
A lifetime couldn't be transformed overnight.
But the whiskey cabinet no longer held twelve bottles.
Most of the sleeping pills were gone under his doctor's supervision.
The dangerous supplements had disappeared completely.
And every Wednesday, Dominic left the estate for an appointment he once would have considered weakness.
One evening, I was preparing herbs in the kitchen when he walked in.
He took my hand.
His thumb rubbed the dark stain beneath one fingernail.
“You know, these nearly ruined my life.”
I laughed.
“My fingernails?”
“They made me curious.”
“That saved your life.”
“That too.”
He looked at the herbs spread across the counter.
“What are those?”
I stared at him dramatically.
“Dominic Russo is asking a question?”
“Don't make this unpleasant.”
“You could've asked six months ago.”
“I was busy being terrifying.”
“You were mostly tired.”
He narrowed his eyes.
I smiled.
Then he smiled too.
That still surprised people.
It didn't surprise me anymore.
Dominic had once believed strength meant never allowing anyone close enough to discover where you hurt.
I had once believed survival meant noticing danger before it noticed you.
We'd both been wrong.
Sometimes survival was letting someone see the scar.
Sometimes strength was admitting you needed help.
And sometimes a marriage created for money, fear, and convenience could become something neither person had planned.
That night, Dominic slept beside me without whiskey.
Without mystery supplements.
Without hiding his hands beneath the blankets.
Just before falling asleep, he reached for mine.
His fingers were steady.
Mine were still stained.
Neither of us cared.
Because Chicago's most feared mafia boss had searched for an innocent wife who would never understand his world.
Instead...
May you like
he found the woman who understood him.
And for the first time in years, Dominic Russo no longer needed to survive alone.
