Chapter 7 - THE MAID’S DOWRYOne week after the dramatic events at the Plaza Hotel.
Marcone Manor had been cleansed of every traitor, every wiretap, and every lingering shadow of Vincent Vance’s faction.
In the grand master study on the second floor, sunlight streamed through twenty-foot arched windows, illuminating the dark mahogany bookshelves and Persian rugs.
Mara sat behind Silas’s massive executive desk—not with a mop or a feather duster, but in a tailored royal-blue silk trousers suit that accentuated her voluptuous curves.
Across from her sat four nervous men in six-thousand-dollar suits: the chief executive officers of Grayhaven’s four primary real estate firms.
"Mrs. Ellison... I mean, Donnessa Marcone," the head CEO stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "We... we brought the property deeds you requested."
Mara took a sip of hot tea from a porcelain cup, looking through the thick stack of financial documents.
"These thirty apartment buildings on the South Side," Mara said, her tone smooth, calm, and absolute. "The rent increased by forty percent last month under Vincent’s management. My former neighbors are being evicted."
"That... that was corporate policy to maximize yield, Madam," the CEO explained nervously.
Mara set her teacup down with a sharp CLINK.
"Effective immediately," Mara commanded, leaning forward, her dark eyes locking onto the four executives, "the rent is reduced by fifty percent. All eviction notices are canceled. And the Marcone Foundation will invest ten million dollars into building a free medical clinic and community center in that district."
The executives blinked, stunned. "Ten million?! But Donnessa... the profit margins—"
The heavy oak double doors of the study swung open.
Silas walked in, wearing a dark gray suit, holding a stack of leather folders. He didn't say a word. He simply walked over to Mara’s chair, stood behind her, and placed his heavy, muscular hands gently on her shoulders, leaning down to press a soft kiss against the top of her head.
He looked up at the four executives. His hazel eyes were cold as polar ice.
"Did my future wife stutter?" Silas asked softly.
The head CEO nearly choked on his tongue. "No! No, Don Marcone! Not at all! The rent is cut by fifty percent! The clinic will be built immediately!"
"Good," Mara smiled warmly, signing the executive order with a gold fountain pen. "You may leave."
The four CEOs gathered their papers and scrambled out of the study like terrified mice.
Once the doors closed, Mara leaned her head back against Silas’s broad chest, letting out a soft sigh. "That felt good."
Silas chuckled, his hands sliding down to wrap around her waist, pulling her up out of the chair until she was standing flush against his tall frame.
"You're a natural, mia carissima," Silas purred against her neck, his lips trailing fire along her skin. "You run this empire better than I ever did."
"I learned from watching you for four years," Mara whispered, turning in his arms, her hands sliding around his neck, tangling into his thick dark hair. "Though I have to admit... I prefer managing the books to sweeping your floors."
"You will never sweep another floor in your life, Mara," Silas growled softly, his mouth closing over hers in a deep, possessive kiss that made her knees turn to liquid.
Suddenly, a tiny voice echoed from the doorway.
"Mama! Mr. Silas!"
They broke apart, smiling, to see little Poppy running into the study wearing a tiny pair of white silk pajamas, holding a giant box of crayons.
"Poppy," Silas smiled, dropping to one knee as the toddler ran into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly onto his broad shoulder. "What do you have there, little one?"
"I drew a picture of our house!" Poppy announced proudly, handing him a wrinkled piece of paper.
Silas looked at the crayon drawing. It showed a big brown house with three people standing in front: a tall man in black, a curvy woman in red, and a little girl with a yellow duck.
Above the man's head, Poppy had drawn a crude, bright yellow crown.
May you like
Silas’s eyes softened with a deep, emotional warmth he had never felt in his thirty-eight years of life. He pulled Mara close with his free arm, hugging both mother and daughter against his chest.
"You were right, Poppy," Silas whispered into the toddler's dark hair. "I didn't have a crown... until your mama gave me one."
