Chapter 6 - The Rebuilding
Six months later, spring had finally broken across Chicago, painting the city in vibrant shades of green and gold.
The trial of United States v. Adrian Cole et al. had lasted four days. It wasn't really a trial; it was a public execution. Luca had systematically dismantled the defense’s arguments before the opening statements were even finished, presenting airtight digital ledgers, recorded wire transfers, and unassailable witness testimonies.
Richard Cole was sentenced to thirty-two years in federal prison without parole for racketeering and corporate fraud. Margaret Cole was placed under house arrest in a small, modest suburban rental after her health failed during pre-trial detention.
And Adrian?
Adrian received fifteen years for aggravated domestic assault, unlawful imprisonment, and financial extortion. When the judge’s gavel finally slammed down, sealing his fate, he didn't look at the press gallery. He looked straight at me, sitting in the front row between Dominic and Matteo, wearing a sharp, tailored cream pantsuit and sunglasses. His eyes were wide, hollow, and filled with a desperate, lingering terror.
I hadn't flinched. I had simply stood up, turned around, and walked out of the courtroom into the bright afternoon sun.
Now, sitting in the corner office of my newly established architectural and historical restoration firm downtown, I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bustling Chicago riverfront.
The office was entirely mine—funded by my own recovered inheritance and backed quietly by Matteo’s logistics network and Gabriel’s financial auditing firm. I wasn't hiding behind the Moretti name anymore, nor was I shrinking in the shadow of a wealthy husband. I was standing entirely on my own two feet.
The heavy oak door of my office clicked open.
Dominic stepped inside, holding two steaming paper cups of coffee from the bakery down the street. He walked over, handing me one before looking out at the skyline view.
“Not a bad office for a girl who ‘came from nothing,’ as Margaret used to say,” Dominic noted with a dry, affectionate smile.
I laughed, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “It’s quiet. No crystal chandeliers, no ballroom doors, and absolutely no dog cages or whips.”
Dominic’s expression softened, the hard, lethal edge of the underworld boss completely melting away into the warmth of an older brother who loved his sister fiercely.
“You did good, El,” he said quietly, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We just opened the doors. You walked through them.”
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“I had a good team backing me up,” I replied, leaning my head against his shoulder for a moment.
“Always,” Dominic murmured. “The Morettis take care of their own. Always have. Always will.”
