Chapter 9 - THE LAST SUPPERTwo weeks later, the mansion looked entirely different.
The bullet holes in the stone walls had been repaired. The broken glass replaced. But the oppressive, freezing silence that had once defined Damian Cross’s life was gone forever, replaced by the warm, chaotic sounds of life.
In the grand dining hall, a massive mahogany table was set for dinner. But instead of rival capos, corrupt politicians, and terrified subordinates, the table was surrounded by the estate staff—the cooks, the gardeners, the security guards who stayed loyal, and Hannah Reed, who had fully recovered from her pneumonia.
At the head of the table sat Damian.
And right beside him, in a booster seat stacked with three thick cushions, sat Ellie.
She was currently attempting to feed Damian a spoonful of heavily sugared mashed potatoes, giggling uncontrollably as Damian dutifully opened his mouth and ate the ridiculous concoction.
“Is it good, Mr. Cross?” Ellie asked eagerly.
“Delicious, Chef Ellie,” Damian replied with a rare, genuine smile that reached his eyes.
Hannah sat across from them, watching the scene with tears of gratitude shining in her eyes. For the first time since her husband’s death, she didn't feel like a servant walking on eggshells in a gilded prison. She felt safe. She felt home.
Tony walked into the dining hall, clearing his throat respectfully. He handed Damian a final envelope bearing the federal prosecutor’s seal.
“It’s done, boss,” Tony reported quietly. “Julian and Marcus have been indicted on federal RICO charges. They’ll spend the rest of their natural lives behind bars. The Vanguard Syndicate has been completely dismantled. The estate’s accounts have been restructured into the new Employee Welfare Trust, just like you wanted.”
Damian took the envelope without looking at it, tossing it casually onto the empty plate beside him.
“Good. Close the books on the old business, Tony. We’re officially retired from the underworld.”
Tony smiled, nodding in respect. “And what about your new job, boss?”
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Damian looked down at Ellie, who had abandoned the potatoes and was now busy drawing a brand-new picture on the white tablecloth with a purple crayon—a picture of a big house with a smiling dog, a tall man, and a little girl holding hands.
“My new job,” Damian said softly, wrapping his arm around the back of Ellie’s chair, “is full-time.”
