Chapter 4 - The Sentinel
By the end of the week, the immediate threat had been neutralized. Victor Sterling’s warehouse network on Lower Wacker was seized by Romano enforcers before sunrise, and Sterling himself had vanished into the shadows of the Indiana swamps, realizing too late that challenging Gabriele Romano was a fatal miscalculation.
Yet, inside the Lincoln Park estate, things were shifting in a way Federica was struggling to comprehend.
She had tried to return to her apartment in Wrigleyville twice, only to find two armed guards standing outside her door and a black town car waiting downstairs. When she called Marco to protest, he simply sighed and said, "Orders from the top, Federica. The estate is secure, your things have already been moved into the master wing, and Mr. Romano doesn't take risks with his family's safety."
Family.
That was the word that kept her awake at night.
She sat at the heavy oak desk in the estate’s private study, her laptop open, the blue light reflecting off her glasses as she cross-referenced the quarterly logistics reports for the shipping division.
The door opened silently.
Gabriele walked in, carrying a fresh cup of tea in a ceramic mug. He set it down beside her keyboard without a word.
Federica glanced up, her heart doing a familiar, traitorous flip against her ribs. In the weeks since the ambush, she had seen a side of Gabriele that Chicago’s underworld never witnessed—patient, quiet, observant, and fiercely protective.
"You're working late again," Gabriele said, leaning his hip against the edge of the mahogany desk.
"Numbers don't sleep," she murmured, adjusting her glasses. "And neither do shipping discrepancies, apparently. I found a three-percent variance in the fuel expenditures coming out of the Gary terminal."
Gabriele looked down at her, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Let the logistics team handle the fuel variance, Federica. You've earned a permanent vacation."
"I'm an auditor, Mr. Romano. Vacations make me nervous."
"Call me Gabriele," he corrected softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver straight down her spine. "And you aren't just an auditor anymore. You know that. Everyone in the organization knows that."
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"What am I, then?" she asked, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.
Gabriele leaned down, his face inches from hers, his voice rich with absolute certainty. "You’re the woman who saved my son. And tomorrow night, I’m taking you out to dinner—to the penthouse at the Hancock Center. No guards standing at the table. Just you and me."
