Chapter 7 - The Final Audit
By midnight, the private dining room at The Drake was empty, save for two security guards clearing the remaining documents into heavy transport cases.
Victor Moretti had been escorted to an awaiting sedan by Marcus Bell’s team, stripped of his authority, his assets, and his territory in a single, surgical evening.
Dominic stood near the wide bay window overlooking Michigan Avenue, watching the snow fall over the city lights.
His phone chimed.
He pulled it out and answered. “Yes?”
“Is it done?” Lydia’s voice came through the speaker—warm, steady, and entirely free of fear.
“It’s done,” Dominic replied, his face softening instantly at the sound of her voice. “Victor is on his way back to Detroit to sign the asset transfer documents. Julian is being handed over to federal authorities tomorrow morning along with twenty years of tax fraud records.”
A quiet pause followed on the line.
“Dominic?” she asked softly.
“Yes, my love?”
“Come home. I made dinner.”
Dominic closed his eyes, feeling a deep, profound warmth wash over his soul—a warmth he had never known in all his years of power, money, and control.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
Twenty minutes later, the private elevator chimed in the penthouse on East Lake Shore Drive.
Dominic stepped out into the entryway.
The antique mirror on the entrance wall was clear, polished, and shining under the soft overhead sconces.
Lydia walked out from the kitchen, wearing a simple burgundy dress that accentuated her curves, her auburn hair falling over her shoulders in soft, gleaming waves. She held two glasses of wine.
She walked up to him, handing him a glass, and looked up into his slate-gray eyes.
There were no sheets. No brown packing paper. No covered vanities.
In every glass surface of their home, their reflections were clear, unified, and strong—a powerful man and the woman who had conquered the darkness beside him.
Dominic took the wine glass, set it on the console table, and pulled Lydia into his arms, holding her close against his heart.
“You know,” Lydia whispered, resting her chin on his chest, a soft, mischievous smile appearing on her lips, “when I gave you those three rules in Milwaukee two years ago, I forgot one.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow, looking down at her with a gentle, questioning gaze. “Which rule was that, Mrs. Vale?”
Lydia reached up, taking his hand and placing it securely over her waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
“Fourth rule,” she whispered, her hazel eyes sparkling with love and fierce devotion. “Whenever someone tries to break us... we make sure they remember who runs Chicago.”
Dominic laughed—a deep, resonant, joyous sound that echoed through the vast, beautiful penthouse, filling every room, every hallway, and every mirror with light.
May you like
“Rule accepted,” Dominic whispered, leaning down to kiss her.
Outside, the snow continued to fall over the city, covering the frozen streets in a blanket of pure, quiet white, while inside, the house remained warm, radiant, and entirely unshakeable.
