Chapter 9 - The Debt of the Heart
Forty-eight hours later, Chicago was quiet. The silence was absolute, the kind that follows an empire reasserting its dominance. Sal Costello had been arrested at O’Hare airport attempting to flee to Switzerland after Dante leaked Carmela’s files to the federal authorities. Emilio and his conspirators were gone, erased from existence as if they had never walked the earth.
The grand estate was being repaired, but the heavy, suffocating gloom that had haunted its corridors for eighteen months had evaporated like morning mist.
I stood on the master balcony, watching the late afternoon sun cast golden beams across Lake Michigan. I wore a simple cashmere sweater, feeling the cool autumn breeze on my skin.
A pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Dante pulled me back against his broad chest, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder. His arm was properly stitched and in a sling, but his presence was as commanding and protective as ever.
"What are you thinking about?" he whispered, his lips grazing my temple.
"About how my life changed in fourteen days," I answered softly, resting my hands over his. "Two weeks ago, I was counting pennies to buy milk for Sophia, terrified that you would throw us out on the street. Now... I don't know who I am anymore."
"You are the woman who brought life back into this mausoleum," Dante said, turning me around in his arms so he could look into my eyes. "You are the woman I want by my side. Not as a secret. Not as a maid. But as my equal."
My breath hitched. "Dante... your world is dangerous. The families, the syndicate—"
"The syndicate answers to me," Dante said with absolute authority. "And I answer only to you and Sophia."
Before I could answer, the balcony doors clicked open. Sophia ran out, wearing a brand-new pink dress, holding a framed photograph in her hands.
"Look, Mommy! Look, Mister!" Sophia chirped excitedly.
Dante and I looked down. It was a photograph of Carmela Falcone, smiling radiantly in a field of sunflowers in Tuscany.
"Where did you get that, Sophia?" Dante asked softly, kneeling down to her level.
"The pretty lady gave it to me," Sophia said, smiling brightly. "She told me to tell you something."
Dante’s eyes softened with tears. "What did she say, little bird?"
Sophia wrapped her tiny arms around Dante’s neck, hugging him tightly.
"She said it’s four o’clock," Sophia whispered into his ear. "And you don't have to walk alone anymore."
May you like
Dante closed his eyes. A single tear rolled down his rugged, tattooed cheek—the final tear of a mourning that had lasted an eternity. He held Sophia tight, burying his face in her hair, letting the grief wash away into the afternoon sun.
***
