Chapter 6 - The War for Chicago
The safehouse in Oak Park was a fortress disguised as a brick mansion. Surrounded by high stone walls and security cameras, it felt more like a private military compound than a home.
For three days, the world outside ceased to exist.
The news channels were filled with breaking updates about the "massive gang war" that had erupted on the South Side of Chicago. My childhood home had been reduced to a scorched shell of brick and ash. The media reported multiple casualties, but no names were released.
My mother sat in a leather armchair in the safehouse library, staring blankly at the fireplace. She barely ate, barely spoke. Twenty years of constructed peace had been demolished in a single evening, leaving her exposed to the ghost she had tried so hard to bury.
I stood by the window, watching heavy rain splatter against the armored glass.
"He's alive," I said softly, breaking the silence.
My mother didn't look up. "You don't know that, Audrey. Men like Joseph... their lives always end in fire."
"He wouldn't die without telling us the truth," I said, turning to her. "He wouldn't find us after twenty years just to leave us again."
The heavy double doors of the library swung open.
Marco stepped into the room. His arm was in a sling, and fresh bandages covered his neck, but his expression was resolute. Behind him stepped Joseph Salvini.
He looked battered. A thick white bandage was wrapped around his ribs under his black shirt, and his face bore fresh bruises. But he was walking. He was standing.
My mother stood up slowly, her hands trembling.
"Leo Moretti is dead," Joseph said quietly, his deep voice filling the quiet room. "His syndicate has surrendered. The men who threatened this city—and my family—have been dealt with."
He walked slowly toward us, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. He stopped three feet away from my mother.
"The house in West Englewood is gone, Rose," Joseph said. "I can never replace the memories you had there. But I have bought a house on the lake—in your name. Far from the city. Far from the noise."
"I don't want your money, Joseph," my mother whispered, tears shining in her eyes. "I never wanted your money."
"It's not money, Rose," Joseph said softly. "It's safety. It's peace. Something I failed to give you twenty-one years ago."
He turned his gaze to me.
"Marco went to Northwestern yesterday," Joseph said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thick manila envelope. "Your tuition is paid in full for the rest of your degree. And I had my lawyers transfer ownership of the Golden Crown to your name."
I gasped. "What? No! I can't accept that!"
"You served drinks in a room where men treated you like a nobody," Joseph said, a faint, proud smile touching his lips. "Now you own the room. You can fire Mr. Collins if you want."
I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped my lips, despite the weight of everything that had happened.
"Why are you doing this?" my mother asked, her voice cracking. "After all these years... why now?"
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Joseph took a slow, painful step closer, dropping his cane to the floor. He took my mother's hand in his, then reached out and took mine with the other.
"Because twenty-one years ago, I lost my heart," Joseph said, looking between the two of us. "And three days ago, I found it standing beside a table with a serving tray against her hip. I spent my whole life building an empire of blood and fear. But none of it matters if I can't protect the only two people who make me human."
