Chapter 5 - The War for the North SideWithin forty-eight hours of Leo’s exile, the fragile peace between Chicago’s criminal syndicates shattered into open warfare.
Sal Maroni, realizing that his assassination attempt had not only failed but that his inside man had been exposed and banished, decided to strike preemptively. Over the next three days, three of the Castellano family’s commercial warehouses in the South End were firebombed, and two of their major trucking routes were ambushed by armed men.
The Castellano estate became an armed fortress. Heavily armed guards patrolled the perimeter fences, armored SUVs idled in the subterranean garage, and Marco spent hours behind closed doors in the study, coordinating counter-offensives with his captains.
Yet, despite the chaos consuming his empire, Marco made sure I was kept safe, comfortable, and secluded in the east wing of the mansion.
On the fourth night, after a particularly grueling day of meetings, Marco knocked softly on my door before entering. He looked exhausted, dark circles shadowing his striking gray eyes, his tailored suit jacket discarded over his arm.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hard to sleep when you can hear helicopters circling the neighborhood every twenty minutes,” I replied, sitting up against the headboard of the bed with a book I hadn't really been reading.
Marco let out a low, tired sigh and walked over, sitting down cautiously on the edge of the mattress.
“It’s almost over,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maroni made his final play an hour ago. He tried to move his primary cash reserves out of a front company in Cicero. Alistair intercepted the courier.”
“And Maroni?” I asked, holding my breath.
“Maroni is currently realizing that declaring war on the Castellano family was the worst mistake of his seventy years of life,” Marco said flatly. “By tomorrow morning, his syndicate will be dismantled, his assets frozen, and his captains folding like cheap lawn chairs.”
He turned his head, looking at me with an intensity that made my pulse race.
“Which means,” Marco continued softly, “that you will soon be free to return to your normal life. If that is what you truly want.”
I stared at him, feeling a sudden, unexpected knot tighten in my chest. For the past four days, I had lived in a gilded cage surrounded by danger, wealth, and power. But I had also lived under the protection of a man who looked at me not as a servant or a statistic, but as his equal—the woman who had stepped in front of a bullet to save him.
“My normal life?” I repeated quietly, a faint smile touching my lips. “Marco… my apartment lease expired on the first of the month. The Golden Rose is boarded up. My apron is ruined. What normal life?”
Marco’s gaze softened completely. He reached out, his warm hand gently cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing against my jawline with infinite tenderness.
May you like
“Then stay,” he whispered, the words carrying the weight of a solemn vow. “Stay here. Not as a guest, and not as a token. Stay as my queen.”
Before I could answer, his lips met mine in a slow, deliberate, breathtaking kiss that swept away all the lingering fear, the gunshots, the blood, and the uncertainty of the past week.
