Chapter 8 - The Price of Freedom
The next morning, Chicago woke up to a seismic shift in its underworld.
News outlets reported the sudden, total liquidation of Vance Holdings, alongside the quiet resignation of three corrupt city inspectors and two high-ranking police captains who had been on Leo’s private payroll. Leo Vance himself vanished from public life, his name scrubbed from every real estate board in Illinois.
Inside the penthouse, the air was warm, quiet, and peaceful.
I sat on the velvet sofa in the library, dressed in a soft cashmere sweater and dark trousers provided by Martha. My cane leaned against the side of the sofa, but for the first time in five years, I didn't feel the desperate urge to hold onto it.
Dr. Vance had performed the minor surgical procedure on my knee three days after the silo raid. The tight, twisted scar tissue had been removed, and after intensive physical therapy sessions in Matteo’s private gym, I could walk across the room with only a faint, almost imperceptible hitch in my stride.
The elevator chimed, and Matteo walked into the library.
He had stripped off his coat, his tie loosened at his neck, looking tired but profoundly relieved. The dark aura of revenge that had surrounded him for three years had finally dissipated, leaving behind a man who looked younger, calmer, and remarkably human.
He walked over to the table and laid a silver key and a heavy velvet box in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking up from my laptop where I was finalizing the audit report for his legitimate shipping firm.
“Your reward,” Matteo said, taking a seat beside me on the sofa.
I opened the velvet box. Inside lay a sleek black card registered to a Swiss bank account, alongside the legal title deed to a beautiful two-story townhouse in Lincoln Park.
“There is two hundred thousand dollars on that card, Clara,” Matteo said softly. “The townhouse is paid in full. You have a full scholarship to finish your accounting degree at DePaul starting next month, with all expenses covered.”
I stared at the card and the deed, my throat tightening with a rush of overwhelming emotion. Five years of pain, poverty, humiliation, and fear seemed to dissolve into nothingness in a single second.
“You gave me my life back,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes as I looked at him.
“You gave me my brother’s peace,” Matteo replied, his deep voice thick with emotion. He reached out, his long fingers gently wiping a stray tear from my cheek. His touch was incredibly warm, tender, and devoid of any monster’s malice. “You exposed the traitor that three years of mob war couldn't find. You saved my family, Clara.”
I looked into his river-stone eyes, seeing the profound depth of feeling he usually kept locked behind his cold exterior.
“I don't need the townhouse, Matteo,” I murmured, leaning slightly into his touch.
Matteo’s hand paused on my cheek, his eyes darkening. “Why not?”
“Because my work here isn't finished,” I said, a brave, soft smile breaking through my tears. “Your shipping firm’s legitimate tax filings are a complete mess. Whoever did your quarterly returns last year didn't know the difference between asset depreciation and operational overhead.”
Matteo let out a genuine, booming laugh that warmed the vast room.
“Are you applying for a job as my Chief Financial Officer, Miss Clara?” he asked, his dark eyes sparkling with delight.
“I’m demanding the job,” I corrected, holding his gaze. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“No more lies,” I said seriously. “No more hidden ledgers. If I run your legal empire, we do it right.”
May you like
Matteo leaned forward, closing the small distance between us until his lips were inches from mine.
“Deal,” he whispered.
