Chapter 7 - The Final LedgerAn hour later, the sirens of the Chicago Police Department wailed in the distance, though Dante knew better than to trust the badge. The corrupt cops on Maroni’s payroll were already intercepted by Dante’s loyal capos, who had locked down the entire district.
In the master study of the Moretti estate, the fire crackled warmly in the hearth. Sofia sat on the sofa, still shaking from the terror of the siege, while Emma slept soundly with her head resting in Sofia’s lap, clutching Daisy like a security blanket.
Dante stood by the window, staring out at the ruined iron gates, his face illuminated by the flickering amber light of the flames. Charles Bennett stepped quietly into the room, holding a heavy, waterproof tactical drive encased in black titanium.
"We found it, Boss," Charles said quietly, setting the drive on the mahogany desk. "Marcus Vance tried to flee through the back service tunnels. We intercepted him. He had this on him—the digital ledger from David Romano’s office. Every name, every bribe, every dirty secret Frankie Maroni used to control the city's infrastructure."
Dante turned slowly from the window. His dark eyes were cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of mercy. "And Marcus?"
"In the trunk of the Lincoln," Charles replied without flinching. "Waiting for your orders."
Sofia looked up from Emma, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and vindication. "That... that drive proves David was innocent? It proves he didn't steal a dime?"
"It proves everything," Dante said, walking over to the desk and picking up the titanium drive. He looked down at Sofia, his expression softening just a fraction. "It proves your husband died because he refused to let them corrupt his integrity. And it gives you your name back, Sofia. Fully cleared. Every cent of embezzled funds has been restored to your family trust, multiplied by Maroni’s own illicit accounts."
Sofia’s eyes filled with hot, heavy tears, but this time, they weren't tears of despair. She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth, letting out a ragged, disbelieving sob. "After three years... three years of hiding... of running... of people calling us thieves..."
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"No one will ever call you that again," Dante said firmly, his voice an absolute vow.
He turned to Charles. "Get the cleanup crew. Take the ledger and send copies to every federal prosecutor in Washington who isn't on Maroni’s payroll. And as for Frankie Maroni..." Dante’s eyes flashed with dark fire. "Tell him I’m coming for dinner."
