Chapter 12 - THE HOSPITAL ROOM REUNION
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The sun rose over Lake Michigan, casting warm golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private hospital suite.
Anthony lay propped up on clean white pillows, a cardiac monitor beeping in a steady, reassuring rhythm beside his bed.
His head was bandaged, and his bruises had been treated, but color had finally returned to his pale, worn face.
Frank sat in a comfortable armchair right beside the mattress, refusing to let go of Anthony’s hand for even a second.
On the bedside table sat a silver platter of fresh pastries and hot coffee that I had personally arranged for them.
“You always took the cannoli with the extra chocolate chips, Frank,” Anthony teased gently, a faint smile touching his cracked lips.
Frank laughed, a rich, joyful sound that I had never heard in the five years I had worked in his mansion.
“That’s because our mother made them special for me, and you were always too slow to reach the kitchen!” Frank retorted.
The two brothers laughed together, their shared joy filling the sterile hospital room with undeniable warmth.
Luca stood quietly near the window, his phone pressed to his ear as he listened to updates from his legal team.
He ended the call, slipped the device into his pocket, and walked over to the foot of his uncle’s bed.
“The federal magistrate just denied Arthur Sterling’s bail,” Luca announced with quiet satisfaction.
“They unsealed the indictment thirty minutes ago: wire fraud, attempted murder, kidnapping, and fifty counts of racketeering.”
“Sterling Enterprises has been placed under federal receivership, and all frozen accounts are being audited.”
Anthony let out a long, shuddering sigh of profound relief, closing his eyes against the pillow.
“For twenty years, Arthur threatened to burn Frank’s house down if I ever stepped foot back in Chicago,” Anthony revealed softly.
“He told me he had corrupt judges on his payroll who would lock me away forever if I spoke a word about the forged deed.”
Frank squeezed his brother’s hand tighter, his jaw hardening with renewed indignation.
“He took twenty years of our lives, Anthony,” Frank said.
“We can never get those years back, but we have today, and we have tomorrow.”
Luca turned toward the door as the handle turned, revealing his chief legal counsel holding a thick leather folder.
“Excuse me, Mr. Moretti,” the attorney said respectfully, nodding toward Luca and Frank.
“The Cook County land registry has officially voided all fraudulent claims on the Taylor Street parcel.”
“The title is officially restored to Frank and Anthony Moretti with full municipal historic protections.”
“Nobody can ever tear down that restaurant, sir; it is now officially a protected Chicago landmark.”
Anthony looked over at Frank, fresh tears shining in his eyes.
“Did you hear that, Frank?” Anthony whispered.
“Our mother’s kitchen is safe forever.”
Frank nodded, wiping a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.
“We’re going to rebuild it, Anthony,” Frank declared with bright enthusiasm.
“You and I are going to stand in that kitchen and cook the Sunday gravy together just like we used to.”
Luca smiled, then turned his gaze directly toward me where I stood near the corner of the room.
May you like
“Claire,” Luca called out gently.
“Come here for a moment, please.”
