Chapter 8 - Epilogue—The Queen of ChicagoFive years later.
The grand ballroom of the Moreno-Callahan Foundation was packed with the city’s most influential leaders, philanthropists, and city officials. But tonight, nobody cared about politicians or corporate mergers.
At the center stage, a fourteen-year-old girl in a bright yellow dress was finishing her piano recital to a roaring standing ovation. Maya Callahan took a sweeping bow, her face glowing with triumph, before running straight off the stage and flying into the arms of her older sister.
Nora caught her, laughing as she hugged her tight. "You were incredible, bug."
"I practiced every day like you told me," Maya beamed, before turning to the tall, imposing figure standing quietly behind Nora. "Right, Cade?"
Cade Moreno—now universally known not as a shadowy mob boss, but as the formidable billionaire philanthropist who had single-handedly revitalized Chicago's waterfront districts—smiled softly. He reached down and adjusted the silver medal hanging around Maya's neck.
"You played like a professional, Maya," Cade said, his voice warm. "Your mother would have been proud."
Maya smiled brightly, running off toward the dessert table to celebrate with her friends.
Nora turned in the dim lighting just behind the stage curtains. Cade pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He looked every bit the powerful king of the city, yet the way he looked at her was entirely stripped of armor.
"You know," Nora whispered, tracing the familiar scar near his right eyebrow with her fingertip, "sometimes I still think about that pay phone at Rosie's Diner. The rain, the forty dollars in my checking account, the panic."
Cade caught her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist with slow, deliberate tenderness.
"Don't look back, sweetheart," Cade murmured, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute devotion. "You survived the night. And the devil never had a chance against you anyway."
May you like
Nora smiled, resting her head against his shoulder as the ballroom music swelled around them. She was no longer running, no longer hiding, and no longer trying to make herself smaller.
She was the Queen of Chicago, and she was home.
