Chapter 9 - The Alliance of Blood
By midnight, the warehouse was empty once more.
Marcus Reed was locked inside the reinforced holding cells beneath the Moretti estate, where he would spend the rest of his natural life answering questions for both Dante and Everett Cross.
Back at the master mansion, the atmosphere had shifted from a house divided to an impenetrable fortress.
In the study, Dante poured two glasses of scotch, handing one to Everett Cross across the mahogany desk. The old rival took the glass, swirling the amber liquid while a subtle smile played on his lips.
"I must admit, Dante," Everett said, taking a slow sip. "When I suggested this marriage, I thought you'd drive her away within a week. She’s too sharp for most men."
"She saved my nephew's life," Dante replied, looking toward the open door that led to the hallway. "And she exposed a rat your own intelligence missed."
"My intelligence is aging," Everett conceded. He set his glass down and stood up. "The wedding stands. In two weeks. The Northern Corridor Alliance will formally merge its freight routes with Moretti Consolidated. No more turf wars. No more ambushes." He paused at the door, glancing back. "Take care of her, Dante. She gave up a brilliant medical career because she couldn't stomach dishonesty. Don't give her a reason to regret choosing you."
"She won't," Dante said.
After Everett left, Dante walked quietly up the stairs to the second floor.
The nursery was dark and peaceful. Little Leo was sleeping soundly in his crib, his breathing deep and steady, monitored by a new, highly vetted private nurse sleeping in the adjacent room.
Down the hall, the door to the guest suite was open.
Vivienne was standing by the window, packing her medical instruments back into their velvet roll, her movements precise and unhurried.
Dante leaned against the doorframe, watching her in silence for a long moment.
"You missed your flight to Wisconsin," Dante noted.
Vivienne didn't look up from her scalpels. "My flight was canceled due to fog."
"There is no fog tonight."
Vivienne finally paused, turning her head to meet his gaze. Her gray eyes were no longer cold; they held a quiet, defiant warmth.
"My father thinks I'm staying because of the treaty," Vivienne said softly.
"And why are you staying?" Dante asked, taking two slow steps into the room.
Vivienne closed her leather case with a sharp, definitive click. She walked toward him until she was standing right in front of him, her chin tilted up, looking into his dark, intense eyes.
"Because someone has to make sure the mafia boss of Chicago doesn't shoot the wrong person again," she murmured.
May you like
Dante let out a low, gravelly chuckle—a sound no one outside this room had ever heard. He reached out, his large hand gently cupping the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone.
"Deal," Dante whispered.
