Chapter 11 - The Quiet AftermathThe first frost of November painted the high windows of the Moretti penthouse in delicate, crystalline webs. Down below, Lake Michigan churned like molten lead under a bruised, gray sky. For months, the federal indictments against Julian Petrovic’s network had dominated the front pages of the Chicago Tribune, but inside our walls, the news felt like ancient history.
I sat at the mahogany dining table, reviewing a structural engineering report for the new community center we were funding on the South Side—a project dedicated entirely to Isabella’s memory.
"You're squinting again," Naomi’s voice broke through my focus. She slid a steaming mug of black coffee across the polished wood, taking the seat opposite me. "If you keep frowning like that, your face is going to freeze into a permanent mobster grimace."
I took a slow sip, looking up at her. The dark circles that used to shadow her eyes during the height of Camille’s plot were gone, replaced by a quiet, steady radiance.
"I'm just reviewing the contractor bids," I replied evenly. "Though after dealing with Arthur Velez, I trust a stray dog with a steak more than I trust commercial real estate developers."
"Fair point," Naomi chuckled, opening a tablet. "Speaking of developers, the city council called about the old sugar refinery property where you cornered Julian. They want to know if you're ready to sign off on the demolition permit."
I stared into the dark surface of my coffee. That refinery was where the old life had officially died—where the monster Camille wanted me to be had nearly surfaced, only to be reined in by reason and family.
"Tear it down," I said softly. "Build a park. Let the kids have a place to run where nothing bad ever happened."
May you like
Naomi nodded, her eyes softening as she watched Jack and Rosie burst through the double doors of the playroom, laughing hysterically as they chased a mechanical puppy across the floor.
"Done," she whispered.
Related Stories
