Chapter 10 - Blooms in the Sun
The wedding of Damiano Moretti and Khloe Parker was not held in a dark cathedral or a smoky underground lounge. It was held in the middle of the Central Park Conservatory Garden, under a bright, cloudless June sky.
The guest list was a fascinating mix of Manhattan’s elite, neighborhood grandmothers from the flower shop, and thirty very polite men in sharp suits who spent the entire afternoon ensuring no one tripped over the floral arrangements.
Khloe walked down the aisle in a stunning, ivory dress that perfectly highlighted her curves, her dark hair pinned back with fresh white ranunculus and pink peonies. In her hands, she carried a bouquet she had designed herself—a chaotic, beautiful arrangement of wild lavender, eucalyptus, and a single white orchid at the center.
Damiano stood at the altar, waiting for her. He wore a tailored white tuxedo jacket, and as she approached, the mask he had worn for thirty-three years cracked completely.
He smiled.
It wasn't a twitch of the mouth. It wasn't a guarded grin. It was a full, radiant, breathtaking smile that illuminated his gray eyes and made him look younger, happier, and entirely at peace.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered as her hand slid into his.
“You’re smiling,” she teased quietly, her eyes tearing up. “I win again.”
“You will always win, Khloe,” he murmured.
The vows were short, powerful, and witnessed by a community that had watched a monster become a man through the simple magic of a flower shop. When the priest finally pronounced them husband and wife, Damiano pulled her into his arms, kissing her with a depth of love that made the crowd erupt into cheers.
The reception was held at La Rosa—which Damiano had permanently bought and renamed The Orchid Room in her honor. The tables were covered in white linen, premium catering, and bouquets from Parker Blooms.
Later that evening, as the music played and the guests danced, Damiano and Khloe stood on the balcony overlooking the park. The city lights twinkled like ground-level stars.
“Are you happy, Mrs. Moretti?” Damiano asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder.
“I am perfectly happy,” Khloe said, leaning back against his chest. She reached down, her fingers brushing the rosebud diamond ring on her finger. “The shop is thriving, the cat has a security detail, and I have the most feared man in New York wrapped around my little finger.”
May you like
Damiano chuckled, a warm, rich sound against her skin. “Not just your finger, Khloe. My heart belongs to the florist. It always will.”
Beneath the New York sky, the dark empire had finally found its light, and the man who had bought every flower in the city had finally brought home the only bloom he would ever need.
