Chapter 10 - The Final Dance
Six months later, the Chicago syndicate was entirely, peacefully legitimate.
My new dance studio was a breathtaking masterpiece. Gabriel had spared absolutely no expense. The floors were imported, flawless hardwood. The mirrors were crystal clear. And the hidden subterranean vault beneath it was completely upgraded, entirely managing the secure, clean logistics for his new empire.
It was a quiet Thursday afternoon. The studio was closed to the public.
Soft, elegant music drifted through the large, sunny room.
Gabriel Moretti wasn't wearing an intimidating charcoal suit. He wore a simple, unbuttoned white shirt and dark slacks. He didn't look like a monster. He looked incredibly happy.
He took my hand, placing his other hand perfectly on my shoulder blade. He didn't grip me like a threat. He held me with absolute, profound reverence.
"Slow, slow, quick, quick," Gabriel murmured smoothly, flawlessly executing the steps without looking down at his feet once.
"You've been practicing without me," I smiled, leaning slightly into his chest.
"I am a man who takes his investments very seriously, Claire," Gabriel whispered, dipping me gracefully before pulling me close and kissing me deeply.
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Sitting in the corner, holding a fresh caramel, Rose Moretti smiled triumphantly. She had paid for twelve lessons, but she had successfully bought her grandson exactly what he truly needed: a queen who wasn't afraid of the dark.
If you were in my shoes, would you have handed Marcus over to the New York cartel, or was blowing him up in the street the perfect justice?
