Chapter 2 - The First Ledger
The master suite was larger than Sadi’s entire old apartment off 18th Street.
It featured a king-sized bed wrapped in dark Egyptian cotton, a marble fireplace roaring with a quiet gas flame, a private dressing room, and a balcony overlooking the formal gardens below.
That night, after the private nurse checked her dressings and administered her antibiotics, Sadi sat on the edge of the plush bed, wearing a dark silk robe Rosa’s staff had provided.
The heavy oak door connecting the bedroom to the private study opened.
Dominic walked in. He had removed his jacket and tie, rolling his crisp white sleeves up to his elbows, revealing thick, dark forearms covered in faded geometric tattoos. He carried two glasses of sparkling mineral water on a silver tray.
He set the tray on the nightstand and handed her a glass.
“The pain medication is working?” he asked, taking a seat in the armchair opposite the bed.
“It’s managing,” Sadi said, taking a small sip. She watched him over the rim of the glass. “You haven't slept since I woke up in the ICU.”
Dominic leaned his head back against the leather chair, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Sleep is a luxury for men who don't have twenty-four Moretti soldiers hunting their border.”
“What happens now, Dominic?” Sadi asked quietly. “We’re married. Your mother is safe. I’m living in your house. What is my role here?”
Dominic opened his eyes, his storm-gray gaze piercing through the dim firelight.
“Your role is to stay alive,” he said flatly. “And to learn how to exist in a world where every smile carries a price.”
He reached into his pocket and placed a sleek, black leather binder on the bed beside her.
“What is this?”
“The ledger for the Moretti family,” Dominic explained, his voice turning cool and analytical. “The man who ordered the hit on Sal’s Diner was Matteo Moretti. He’s the younger brother of Don Vincent Moretti. Matteo thought killing my mother would break my focus while I was negotiating the harbor shipping rights with the port authority.”
Sadi’s hand hovered over the leather cover. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Because tomorrow night, we are hosting a dinner,” Dominic stated. “The syndicate captains are coming to this house to pay their respects to my new wife. They need to see that you are not a victim, Sadi. They need to see the woman who stood in front of submachine guns and didn't blink.”
Sadi looked down at her trembling hands. “Dominic, I’m a waitress. I know how to pour coffee and take orders from tired truck drivers. I don't know how to talk to mafia bosses.”
Dominic stood up from his chair, walked over to the side of the bed, and knelt down so his face was level with hers.
He reached out, his large, warm hand cupping the back of her neck, his thumb resting gently against the side of her throat where her pulse was fluttering frantically.
“Look at me, Sadi,” he commanded softly.
She met his gaze.
“You have more courage in your little finger than half the captains sitting at my table,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic rumble. “You don't need to play a role. You just need to walk into that room, wear my name, and let them see the iron inside you.”
Sadi felt a sudden, electric heat spread from his hand down her spine, making her forget the ache in her ribs for a split second.
“And if I mess up?” she whispered.
“You won't,” Dominic promised, his eyes darkening as his gaze flicked down to her lips before returning to her eyes. “Because I will be standing right behind you.”
May you like
He released her neck slowly, stood up, and walked toward the daybed in the adjoining sitting room.
“Get some rest, Sadi,” he said, pulling the pocket door halfway shut. “Tomorrow, Chicago meets its new queen.”
