Chapter 9 - The Dawn of Peace
The strike against the Moretti Syndicate was swift, brutal, and absolute.
By eight o'clock that evening, federal authorities, acting on anonymous, ironclad financial evidence provided directly by Kade Global Investments, seized over two hundred million dollars in illegal Moretti assets. By ten o'clock, Don Alberto Moretti and his top lieutenants were placed under arrest at O'Hare International Airport while attempting to board a private jet.
The war that had plagued Chicago's underbelly for three years was ended in a single, bloodless masterstroke of corporate and legal destruction.
At six o'clock the following morning, as the sun rose over Lake Michigan, painting the sky in brilliant hues of gold, crimson, and amber, Weston walked back into the estate nursery.
He had taken a shower, washed away the dust of the night, and put on a soft grey cashmere sweater and jeans.
Priya was sitting in the high-backed velvet rocking chair by the bay window, holding Owen. The baby was awake, his bright dark eyes open wide, his small hands waving happily in the warm morning light.
Weston walked in quietly, stepping across the rug, and sank down onto the footstool in front of the rocking chair.
He looked at Owen, then reached up, gently taking Priya’s hand in his.
"It's over," Weston murmured softly, a deep, beautiful smile spreading across his face. "Alberto Moretti is in federal custody facing life without parole. The Syndicate has been dismantled. The streets are clean."
Priya let out a long, shuddering breath of relief, tears of joy welling in her dark eyes. "It's really over?"
"It's really over," Weston promised. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers. "Owen is safe. You are safe."
"Look at him, Weston," Priya smiled through her tears, tilting the baby toward him.
Weston looked down at his son.
Weight: 6 lbs 1 oz.
Owen let out a tiny, sweet coo, his small fingers reaching out and curling firmly around Weston’s thumb. For the first time in his life, Weston Kade let out a soft, deep laugh—a sound filled with pure, unadulterated happiness.
"He’s strong," Weston whispered, tears glistening in his own eyes. "He gets that from you."
"He gets his fight from his father," Priya corrected gently.
Weston looked up into Priya’s eyes, his expression shifting from joy to profound, breathtaking devotion.
"Priya," Weston said softly, holding her hand tight against his chest. "When my wife died, I thought my life was reduced to a cold, lonely duty. I thought I would raise Owen in the shadows of my past. But you brought light into this house. You saved my child, and you saved me."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple, delicate gold ring set with a single, flawless sapphire—a heirloom that had belonged to his grandmother.
"I don't want you to be Owen’s nurse anymore, Priya," Weston whispered, his voice trembling with deep emotion. "I want you to be his mother. I want you to be my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, protecting you, and building a world worthy of your heart."
Priya looked at the sparkling sapphire ring, then at the man kneeling before her—a king who had surrendered his heart completely to her love.
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"Yes," Priya whispered, tears overflowing her eyes, a radiant smile illuminating her face. "Yes, Weston! A thousand times yes!"
Weston slid the gold ring onto her finger, then leaned up, cupping her cheeks with his hands, and pulled her down into a deep, passionate, loving kiss. Owen cooed softly between them, his tiny hands kicking happily against their fleece blanket.
