Chapter 9 - THE LAST LIGHT OF CHICAGOMidnight struck as the armored Cadillac slipped back out onto the expressway, leaving the neon glow of the Velvet Anchor behind in the rearview mirror.
Inside the car, the silence was warm and heavy.
Lena sat in the corner of the backseat, her eyes closed, resting her head against the cool leather upholstery. Matteo slid in beside her, pulling the heavy door shut, sealing out the noise of the city.
He didn't say a word. He simply reached out, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her gently against his chest.
Lena opened her eyes and looked up at him. The terrifying, ice-cold Black Lion of the underworld was gone, replaced once again by the quiet, attentive husband who sat in booth seven every night at eight p.m. to watch her pour coffee.
“Is it really over?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.
“It’s over,” Matteo murmured, pressing a soft kiss into her dark hair. “Rossi is on a private jet to Buenos Aires right now. Dante has locked down the accounts. Nobody will ever bother The Last Light Diner again.”
Lena let out a long, shuddering sigh of profound relief, the last three days of terror finally melting away from her bones. She reached up, her hand gently touching his cheek.
“You promised me a quiet life, Matteo.”
“And I intend to give it to you,” he replied, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. “We have a diner to run. And I believe I owe you a cup of black coffee.”
May you like
Lena smiled back, her eyes shining in the dim light of the dashboard. “Only if you sit in your proper booth.”
“Always,” Matteo said.
