Chapter 10 - The Golden Crown
One year later.
The Golden Crown was bustling with light, music, and laughter. The restaurant had been completely renovated—warm mahogany, sparkling glass, and red velvet chairs gave it a regal, welcoming atmosphere.
I stood near the host stand, wearing a sleek black blazer and trousers. I was no longer a waitress balancing serving trays. I was the proud owner of Chicago's premier establishment, balancing my final semester at Northwestern with running a thriving business.
The front glass doors opened, and a cool autumn breeze swept inside.
Joseph Salvini walked in, wearing a sharp charcoal suit. Beside him was my mother, Rose, dressed in an elegant green dress, her smile bright and serene.
They walked hand in hand.
Joseph had officially stepped down from running the street operations of the Salvini organization, handing control over to Marco and a council of trusted lieutenants. He was no longer the feared mob boss of Chicago. He was a man who spent his days taking my mother on trips across Europe and his evenings sitting by the fireplace in Evanston.
"Good evening, Boss," I teased, stepping forward to greet them.
Joseph smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I don't hold that title anymore, Audrey. You do."
"Table for two, Mr. Salvini?" I asked, leading them toward the best table in the house—the private booth near the grand piano.
"Actually, table for three," my mother said, kissing my cheek. "You're joining us for dinner. You've been working too hard."
"I have a business to run, Mom," I laughed, but I gladly pulled out a chair and sat down beside them.
A young waiter rushed over, placing a bottle of fine red wine and three glasses on the white tablecloth.
"Everything looks perfect tonight, Miss Bennett," the waiter said respectfully before bowing slightly and walking away.
Joseph lifted his glass, the light catching his wrist. The small constellation tattoo circled his skin, glowing under the warm chandeliers. My mother lifted her glass, her stars matching his perfectly.
I reached out my own wrist, laying it on the table beside theirs.
A month ago, on my twenty-first birthday, I had gone to a small studio in South Side and gotten the exact same pattern inked onto my skin—a constellation of stars linking the three of us together across time, pain, and shadows.
"To family," Joseph said softly, his dark eyes shining with tears of gratitude. "The ones we lose, the ones we find, and the ones that keep us whole."
"To family," my mother echoed, resting her head gently on his shoulder.
May you like
I touched my glass to theirs, the clear ring of crystal echoing through the restaurant like a song.
Outside, the Chicago rain began to fall against the glass windows, cold and continuous. But inside the Golden Crown, surrounded by light, warmth, and the people I loved, the shadows had finally given way to the dawn.
