Chapter 6 - The Fall of the North SideBy sunrise, the smoke over the Lincoln Park estate had cleared.
Bruno and Viktor had successfully repelled the outer assault, capturing two of Rossi’s men alive in the gardens while the rest fled into the dawn. The police—who conveniently took forty-five minutes to respond to a mafia shootout in a wealthy neighborhood—arrived only after Dante’s legal team had already filed emergency injunctions and cleared the dead bodies into private vans.
The underworld of Chicago was in total shock.
Dominic Rossi had tried to assassinate Dante Marino in his own fortress and had failed miserably—humiliated not just by Dante’s enforcers, but by Dante’s thirty-one-year-old secretary, who had shot an infiltrating hitman with a snub-nosed revolver while wearing silk pajamas.
By noon, I was back at my desk in the penthouse office, sipping my third cup of coffee, organizing expense reports, and typing up a formal memo detailing the cost of replacing the west wing greenhouse glass.
The frosted glass door opened, and Dante walked out. He looked tired, but the dark, hollow look that had haunted his eyes for nine years was entirely gone. He looked lighter. Alive.
He dropped a thick manila envelope onto my desk.
“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.
“Dominic Rossi’s resignation,” Dante said calmly, leaning against my desk with his hands in his pockets. “He called me at seven o'clock this morning. He’s liquidating his assets, handing over the North Side shipping lanes to our syndicate, and moving permanently to a very quiet, very small goat farm in Costa Rica.”
I raised an eyebrow, pulling out the signed transfer documents. “You negotiated a peaceful surrender before breakfast?”
“I reminded him that my secretary is an excellent shot and has a very low tolerance for property damage,” Dante said smoothly, a warm smirk playing on his lips.
I couldn't help laughing, shaking my head. “You’re terrible, Mr. Marino.”
“Dante,” he corrected, reaching across the desk to gently touch my hand. The warmth of his skin sent a delicious shiver straight up my spine. “It’s Dante, Emily. At least when we’re not in the middle of a tax audit.”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed on the desk.
I picked it up. It was the director of Evanston Psychiatric.
“Miss Davies? I’m calling with some wonderful news,” the director said cheerfully. “An anonymous benefactor just paid off Leo’s treatment balance in full for the next ten years, plus established a trust fund for his future care.”
My breath hitched. I slowly looked up from the phone, fixing my gaze on Dante.
Dante didn't look away. He simply held my gaze, his gray eyes shining with quiet, unwavering devotion.
“Who... who authorized the trust?” I asked the director, my voice trembling slightly.
“A family foundation managed by Marino Holdings, Miss Davies. The paperwork was signed this morning by Mr. Dante Marino himself.”
I slowly lowered the phone, my heart swelling until it felt too big for my chest.
“You didn't have to do that,” I whispered, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
May you like
“I told you, Emily,” Dante said softly, rounding the desk and pulling me gently out of my chair into his arms. “You keep my books balanced, you save my Persian rugs, and you shoot my enemies in your pajamas. The least I can do is make sure your brother is taken care of for the rest of his life.”
I buried my face against his chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart—a heart that had finally started ticking again after nine years of silence.
