Chapter 5 - Dawn Over Manhattan
By 5:30 a.m., the Manhattan sky was beginning to streak with pale shades of lavender and bruised orange above the East River.
Dante walked down the private residential hallway toward the staff quarters. The penthouse was entirely silent. The heavy security grid was locked down, the perimeter sensors were recalibrated, and the threat that had cast a shadow over Emma and Lily Harper had been permanently excised.
He stopped outside the staff quarters door and raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles touched the wood, the door clicked open.
Emma stood there. She had changed into clean clothes, her blond hair neatly tied back, though dark circles under her eyes betrayed the fact that she hadn’t slept.
“Mr. Valenti,” she whispered, her voice tight with leftover apprehension. “I... I was just coming to your office to hand in my resignation. I know I brought trouble into your home. I understand if you want us gone.”
Dante looked at her, noting the quiet dignity she managed to maintain despite the terror of the past twenty-four hours.
“You aren't going anywhere, Emma,” Dante said flatly.
She blinked in surprise. “Sir?”
“Your employment contract stipulates duties related to housekeeping and residential maintenance,” Dante said, his tone unwavering. “It does not include dealing with extortionists in the steam tunnels. That falls under building security.”
“But—after everything—surely you don’t want people like that associated with your home—”
“Nobody is associated with them anymore,” Dante interrupted. “Arthur is facing twenty years in federal custody, and the Higgins Syndicate is currently being dismantled across three boroughs. You and Lily are safe here. Safer than you’ve ever been.”
A single tear spilled over Emma’s eyelashes, tracking down her cheek, but this time it was accompanied by a shaky, profound exhale of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Valenti. I... I don’t even know how to begin to repay you.”
May you like
“You can start by making sure your daughter remembers her math homework,” Dante said dryly. “And tell her that if she ever wants to learn how to throw a proper punch, she has to wait until she’s at least ten years old.”
Emma let out a wet, genuine laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I’ll tell her.”
