Chapter 8 - THE DAWN AFTER THE STORMTwenty-four hours later.
The morning sun broke over Lake Michigan, casting a golden light across the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite at the Drake Hotel.
I sat on the balcony, wrapped in a plush white robe, drinking a hot cup of fresh coffee. Below me, Michigan Avenue was buzzing with its usual morning traffic, completely unaware of the war that had been fought in its shadows the night before.
The front door of the suite opened.
Gabriel walked in, wearing a clean, crisp grey suit. He looked tired, the shadows under his eyes dark, but the dangerous tension that had possessed him for the past two days was gone.
He walked out onto the balcony and stood beside me, leaning against the railing.
“Richard is in federal custody without bail,” Gabriel said softly, looking out at the water. “The board voted unanimously to appoint me permanent CEO. The Sokolov syndicate’s assets in Chicago have been completely frozen by the FBI.”
“And Gavin?” I asked.
“He’s looking at twenty years for conspiracy and child endangerment,” Gabriel replied. “He won't be managing any dining rooms for a very long time.”
I took a sip of my coffee, feeling a strange, hollow quiet inside my chest. “What about my mother?”
“She’s upstairs in the master suite,” Gabriel smiled gently. “I had my personal physician examine her. He’s arranged for her to receive a private kidney transplant at Northwestern Memorial next week. All expenses are paid. Permanently.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I looked down at my hands—the hands that had carried coffee cups, swept broken glass, and held a gun in the dark of a sewer.
“I don't know how to thank you, Gabriel,” I whispered.
“You don't thank me, Cassidy,” Gabriel said, turning to face me. “You saved my daughter’s life. You gave her back her safety when everyone else in that restaurant stood by and watched.”
The glass door behind us slid open quietly.
Maya walked out onto the balcony.
She was wearing a yellow sundress, her dark hair brushed soft and smooth over her shoulders. She carried a small leather notebook in her hands.
She walked straight up to me and handed me the notebook.
I opened it. On the first page was a beautiful colored drawing. It showed three people standing together under a bright sun: a tall man, a little girl, and a woman with an apron. Above the woman’s head, in neat, careful crayon letters, was written:
MY HERO.
I wiped a tear from my cheek and smiled down at her. “Thank you, Maya. It’s beautiful.”
Maya looked at me. Her mouth opened slightly. Her tiny hands reached up and took mine.
She swallowed hard, her throat moving as if she were trying to push a heavy stone out of her chest.
Then, a faint, tiny whisper broke through her lips:
“...Thank... you... Cassidy...”
Gabriel gasped, his hands dropping to his sides. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at his daughter in complete, unadulterated shock.
May you like
Maya had spoken.
She threw her small arms around my waist, burying her face into my robe. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as Gabriel fell to his knees beside us, pulling both of us into his arms, weeping quietly against his daughter’s hair.
