Chapter 10
Three weeks later.
The spring thaw had finally arrived in Chicago, melting the gray slush along Lake Shore Drive and replacing the bitter winter wind with the crisp, clean scent of blooming lilacs.
The penthouse suite on the thirty-fourth floor of the Valenti Tower was bathed in morning sunlight.
I was standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out over the glittering blue expanse of Lake Michigan.
I wore a tailored cream-colored silk blouse and high-waisted dark trousers. On my right foot, Dr. Russo’s sutures had healed into a thin, pale pink scar—a permanent reminder of Marcus Hale, the garage, and the night everything changed.
I could walk without a limp now.
In the adjoining library, Leo was sitting at a glass desk, studying college entrance exam prep books. Dominic had wiped his debt, established a blind trust fund in his name, and enrolled him in a private prep academy in Evanston under a completely untraceable identity. He was safe. He had his life back.
A soft pair of hands wrapped around my waist from behind.
Dominic pulled me back against his chest.
He was wearing a fresh charcoal suit, his tie undone, the bandages beneath his crisp white shirt finally removed two days ago. He rested his chin against the top of my head, breathing in the scent of my hair.
"You're thinking too loud," Dominic murmured, his deep voice vibrating against my spine.
"I'm thinking about how strange it is," I confessed, leaning back into his embrace, letting the warmth of his body chase away the lingering shadows. "A month ago, I was terrified you’d fire me for dropping a glass. Now... half the city thinks I’m the heir to the Falcone throne."
"You are the heir," Dominic said softly, turning me around in his arms so I had to look into his dark, mesmerizing eyes. "The old families have stopped fighting. Bruno and the council officially recognized your claim last night."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
My breath caught in my throat. "Dominic..."
He opened it.
Inside wasn't a diamond engagement ring.
It was a signet ring cast in solid platinum. On its face was an intricate, magnificent engraving: the archangel of the Valenti crest, with the silver falcon of the Falcone family resting upon its outstretched wrist.
The two greatest bloodlines in the history of the Chicago syndicate, forged into a single, unbreakable symbol.
"I told you once that you belong to me, Emma," Dominic whispered, his thumb caressing my cheekbone with intoxicating tenderness. "I was wrong. We belong to each other. You saved my life in that warehouse. You bled for this family. Now, the choice is yours."
He lifted the ring between his fingers.
"Take this ring, and you stand beside me as the undisputed co-ruler of this city. Nobody will ever touch you. Nobody will ever threaten your brother. We build an empire together that no one can tear down."
He paused, his eyes softening with a rare, breathtaking vulnerability.
"Or... I have an offshore account in the Cayman Islands with twenty million dollars in your name, and a private jet waiting at O'Hare to take you and Leo anywhere in the world. You can dance again. You can open a school in Paris. You can walk away from the blood forever. And I will never stop you."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Freedom. A clean slate. The life I thought I had lost forever on Michigan Avenue.
Or him.
The man who had bled for me. The man who had burned an army to keep me safe. The darkness and the glory of a throne built on loyalty and fire.
I opened my mouth to give him my answer—
When the private red telephone on his desk began to ring.
The sound was sharp, piercing, and immediate.
Dominic’s expression hardened instantly. That line was only connected to one location: the subterranean command bunker beneath the estate, operated exclusively by Daniel.
Dominic reached over, picked up the receiver, and pressed it to his ear without breaking eye contact with me.
"Speak," Dominic said.
A moment of silence stretched across the room, heavy and suffocating.
Then Daniel’s voice came through, loud enough for me to hear every horrifying word.
*“Boss... we just finished the ballistics trace on the machine pistol Vittorio Ross was using at the harbor.”*
"And?" Dominic demanded.
*“It wasn't registered to Moretti,”* Daniel said, his voice trembling with disbelief. *“The serial numbers match the private armory of the Chicago Federal Prosecutor’s Office. The weapon was signed out three days before the raid... by Dr. Lorenzo Russo.”*
My blood turned to ice.
*Dr. Russo.*
The family doctor who had stitched my foot.
The doctor who had been inside Dominic’s private circle for twenty years.
*“And Boss,”* Daniel added, his breath catching. *“Russo’s car just cleared the front gate of the tower. He’s in the executive elevator heading up to the penthouse right now. He’s not coming to check your stitches.”*
The mechanical chime of the private elevator outside the double doors echoed softly down the marble corridor.
*Ding.*
Dominic hung up the phone with terrifying slowness.
He didn't panic. He didn't flinch.
He reached into his jacket, pulled his Glock from the holster, racked the slide with a crisp, lethal snap, and extended his other hand toward me.
In his palm lay the signet ring.
On the desk behind him lay the SIG Sauer.
Dominic looked into my eyes, the shadow of war descending over us once again.
"What's your answer, Emma?" he whispered.
May you like
The elevator doors began to slide open.
And I reached out my hand.
