Chapter 5 - The Purge
The sun rose over the Chicago lakefront, casting a pale, cold golden light across the snow-dusted lawns.
By 7:00 a.m., Marcela’s luggage was loaded into the back of a black town car. She left without saying goodbye, her expression frozen in bitter, unrepentant hatred as the vehicle vanished down the private drive.
The estate felt instantly lighter—as if a heavy, toxic fog had finally burned away.
Maria Alvarez appeared in the kitchen doorway around eight o'clock, carrying a fresh, steaming bowl of chicken soup—this time, with extra carrots and homemade noodles, exactly how I liked it.
"Good morning, Mrs. Viscari," Maria said softly, setting the bowl down on the kitchen island. She looked around the spotless, quiet kitchen, then at Dante, who was sitting beside me peeling an orange. "Quiet morning."
"Very quiet, Maria," Dante replied, looking up with a rare, genuine smile. "And from now on, any orders regarding my wife come directly from me. Understand?"
Maria smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Crystal clear, Mr. Viscari."
After Maria bustled back into the pantry, Dante slid the bowl closer to me and took my hand.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I should have seen what she was doing. I was so focused on keeping the syndicates off our backs that I didn't realize the threat was sitting in my own kitchen."
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"You came home eleven days early," I reminded him gently, leaning my head against his shoulder. "That counts for a lot."
"It counts for everything," Dante murmured. "And from now on, nobody touches my family. Not rivals, not boards of directors, and certainly not my mother."
