Chapter 7 - The Queens of ChicagoThree weeks had passed since the night in the archive.
Tommy was out of critical condition. His dialysis treatments were running smoothly at the Russo Private Medical Center, and the head physician had even informed me that, if his progress continued, he might be a candidate for a priority kidney transplant within the year.
My brother was safe. But I was no longer a maid.
I sat at the mahogany conference table on the top floor of the Russo Tower, wearing a bespoke emerald-green silk pantsuit that Victor had commissioned for me. Around the table sat the remaining capos of the Chicago syndicate—hardened, brutal men who had once looked at me with open contempt.
Now, they looked at me with absolute, unadulterated fear.
Because right behind my chair, standing like an obsidian statue with his arms crossed over his chest, was Victor Russo.
"According to the financial records recovered from Marcus’s terminal," I spoke clearly, my voice ringing out with a cold, unshakable confidence I didn't know I possessed, "the North Side docks have been funneling ten percent of our import revenue to the Chicago Outfit. That leak is plugged. The new manifestos are on your desks."
Silence filled the room. Not a single capo dared to question me. They knew that anyone who crossed me answered directly to the man standing behind my chair.
When the meeting adjourned, the capos scurried out of the room like rats fleeing a sinking ship, leaving just Victor and me alone in the penthouse suite.
Victor walked slowly around the table, stopping right beside my chair. He leaned down, resting his hands on the armrests, trapping me in a warm, intoxicating enclosure.
"You’ve come a long way from scrubbing my bedroom floor, Elena," Victor murmured, a rare, genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"I learned from the best teacher in Chicago," I replied, turning my head to look him directly in the eyes.
Victor reached out, tracing the sharp line of my jaw with his thumb. The air between us cracked with a volatile, undeniable tension—a dangerous mix of power, survival, and a deep, consuming passion that neither of us dared to name.
"There is one final debt left to settle," Victor whispered, his dark eyes darkening with intense desire.
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, my heart hammering against my ribs. "And what’s that, Mr. Russo?"
"Call me Victor," he murmured, his face drawing dangerously close to mine. "And the debt... is a lifetime sentence."
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Before I could answer, his lips captured mine in a fierce, demanding kiss that swept away every remaining trace of fear, doubt, and hesitation.
I wasn't a maid anymore. I was his equal. And the queen of the underworld had just taken her throne.
