Chapter 9 - The New Rules of the City
Three months later, the Moretti-Carter logistics firm occupied the top three floors of a newly renovated commercial complex on Halsted Street—the exact site of my father’s old engineering office.
The district was thriving. Small business owners no longer lived in fear of syndicate shakedowns or corrupt real estate developers. The docks hummed with legitimate cargo, transparent shipping manifests, and fair wages for local workers.
I sat behind a sleek mahogany desk, reviewing financial ledgers on a dual-monitor setup while wearing a sharp, tailored emerald blazer.
A soft knock tapped against my open office door.
Dominic Moretti walked in, carrying two cups of artisanal espresso and a fresh pastry from the bakery downstairs. He didn't knock anymore; he just made himself at home, dropping an espresso cup onto my desk before leaning casually against the corner.
“You’re late for the city council zoning briefing,” Dominic noted, checking his watch with an amused smirk.
“I was finishing the audit on the south district warehouses,” I replied without looking up from my screen, signing off on a digital transfer. “Everything is balanced down to the last penny. No leaks, no hidden debts, no surprises.”
Dominic chuckled, taking a sip of his espresso. “You know, you sound more like an accountant every day. Whatever happened to the girl who used to shatter cinderblocks in Cicero basements?”
I finally looked up, a slow, knowing smile touching my lips.
“She’s still here, Dominic,” I said softly, standing up from my desk and smoothing down my blazer. “She just learned how to use a pen instead of her fists.”
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Dominic’s gray eyes softened, a quiet, profound warmth settling between us that had nothing to do with syndicate wars, million-dollar mansions, or revenge.
“Come on, partner,” Dominic said, holding out his arm. “Let’s go show the city council how business is really done.”
