Chapter 8 - AFTER THE STORM
By noon, the rain had stopped, giving way to bright, clear sunlight breaking through the clouds over Brooklyn.
A team of twenty private cleaners and contractors were already at work in the grand foyer, repairing the shattered doors, replacing damaged marble tiles, and removing all traces of the morning's battle.
In the sunlit glass conservatory overlooking the ocean, Clara sat on a wicker sofa, watching Leo play happily with a set of wooden building blocks on the carpet.
The heavy steel door of the conservatory opened softly.
Rico stepped inside. He had showered, changed into a crisp white linen shirt and dark trousers, and bandaged a small cut on his right knuckles.
Leo looked up, his face lighting up with a brilliant smile. "Daddy!"
The three-year-old jumped up from the floor, running across the room on his sturdy little legs, throwing his arms around Rico’s knees.
Rico dropped to his knees instantly, scooping his son up into his massive arms, lifting him high into the air as Leo let out a loud, ringing laugh.
"Hey, little boss," Rico murmured, burying his face in his son's dark hair, kissing his cheek repeatedly. "Did you take care of your aunt Clara while I was busy?"
"Aunt Clara read me the boat book!" Leo declared proudly, speaking a full, clear sentence for the first time in six months.
Rico’s eyes filled with sudden, intense emotion. He looked across the room at Clara, his silver eyes shining with a deep, profound gratitude that no amount of money could ever purchase.
He set Leo back down on the play mat and walked over to the sofa, sitting down beside Clara.
"Sal Maroni’s syndicate is completely dismantled," Rico spoke quietly, looking out at the glittering Atlantic Ocean. "His lieutenants surrendered their territories by eleven this morning. The war that killed Elena... is officially over."
Clara let out a soft, long breath, her shoulders relaxing. "So... we're safe?"
"You are completely safe," Rico promised, reaching out to take her hand into his warm, firm grip. "Your grandmother’s surgery was successful three hours ago. The doctors say she will make a full recovery."
Clara looked down at their joined hands, feeling the strength and safety radiating from his touch. "I don't know how to thank you, Rico."
"You don't thank me, Clara," Rico said, his voice dropping into a soft, velvety baritone that made her heart skip a beat. "You brought my son back to life. You saved this family from falling into total darkness."
He turned his body slightly, his dark silver eyes locking onto hers with a searing, magnetic focus.
"I know we met under crazy circumstances," Rico murmured, his long fingers gently caressing the back of her hand. "I know who I am, and I know the dark world I inhabit. But if you want to stay... if you want to make this your home... there is nothing in this world I won't give you."
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Clara looked into his eyes, seeing no longer the terror of the "Butcher of Brooklyn," but a fiercely protective, devoted father who loved his family with every fiber of his soul.
"I don't want the world, Rico," Clara whispered, a soft smile breaking across her lips. "I just want to be here. With you and Leo."
