Chapter 7 - The Last Laundromat
Ten minutes later, the Pier 54 container terminal was dead silent once more, save for the gentle lapping of river water against the concrete pylons.
Marcus and Viktor were tied securely to a pair of structural steel pillars, unconscious and bleeding freely. Sirens wailed softly in the distance—not police sirens, but the private cleanup crew of the Vance syndicate arriving to sweep away the wreckage.
In the center of the tarmac, standing beside the idling helicopter, Dante Vance knelt down on one knee.
Chloe was sitting on a wooden crate, her little white coat stained with dust, but unharmed. Norah stood beside her, gently wiping soot off the little girl’s cheek with a damp cloth.
Dante looked up at Norah. The hardened, ruthless crime lord looked humbled, stripped of all his armor.
“You followed me,” Dante said, his voice surprisingly soft. “You could have taken my car, gone to the airport, and disappeared anywhere in the world with the cash I left in the guest suite safe.”
Norah looked down at her hands—still bruised, still stained with a bit of laundry detergent and soot.
“And leave this little girl with a father who doesn't know how to protect her properly?” Norah raised an eyebrow, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. “Besides, nobody else knows how to mend your Italian wool coats correctly, Mr. Vance.”
Dante let out a long, slow breath, then stood up and extended his hand toward her.
“My name is Dante,” he said quietly.
Norah hesitated for a moment, then placed her small, calloused hand in his large, warm grip.
“Norah,” she replied.
Suddenly, a tiny pair of arms wrapped around Norah’s waist from behind. Norah looked down.
Chloe looked up at her, her big brown eyes shining with unshed tears, and spoke the clearest, most joyful words the world had ever heard from her:
May you like
“Mama... let’s go home.”
Dante closed his eyes, a profound wave of peace washing over his tortured soul for the first year since his wife’s assassination. He looked at Norah, seeing not a temporary helper, but the missing piece of a shattered empire.
