Chapter 6 - The Shattered Glass
The air turned into pure static.
The guard who had reached for Rosa was six-foot-four, built like an NFL lineman, and wearing Kevlar. But when Dante Moretti closed the distance, the guard took one look at the absolute, void-like fury in Dante's eyes and raised both hands in immediate, trembling surrender.
"Step back," Dante whispered.
The guard didn't hesitate. He scrambled backward so fast he tripped over the curb, crashing onto his backside in the freezing slush.
Dante stepped into the empty space, planting himself directly in front of Rosa. He looked down at her, checking her from head to toe in half a second, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. When he saw that she was untouched, the tension in his broad shoulders loosened by a fraction of an inch, only to be replaced by a dark, simmering wrath.
"I told you to stay in the penthouse," Dante said, his voice a low rumble beneath the drumming rain.
"If I had stayed in the penthouse, you would have lost your empire tonight," Rosa countered, looking up at him without an ounce of fear. "You're welcome, by the way."
Dante stared at her, caught between an overwhelming urge to strangle her for risking her neck and a desire to drop to his knees and kiss her in front of every news camera in Chicago.
"We will discuss your complete lack of self-preservation later," he growled.
Then Dante turned his attention to Victor Hargrove.
Victor was backed against the hood of his SUV, completely surrounded by Dante’s men. The private security team his father had paid for had already dropped their weapons onto the asphalt, their hands resting flat against the tops of their heads. The news crews were still rolling, captivated by the raw, unscripted drama playing out on the city street.
Dante dragged the heavy steel crowbar along the wet pavement. The metal screeched against the concrete—a high, bone-chilling sound that made Victor whimper.
"You brought news cameras to my front door, Victor," Dante said, walking toward him with agonizing slowness. "You thought the light would protect you. You thought if you made enough noise, I would be forced to play by the rules of polite society."
"Moretti, the cameras are live!" Victor stammered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably from the cold and the sheer, unadulterated terror coursing through his veins. "Millions of people are watching! If you touch me, you’re finished!"
Dante stopped two feet away. He glanced over his shoulder at the primary news camera, owned by Channel 7.
"Julian Vance sent you here, didn't he?" Dante asked quietly.
Victor’s eyes widened in panicked shock. "I—I don't know what you’re talking about!"
"Julian Vance told you that if you created a public spectacle at my home, the city would revoke my commercial docking permits by morning, clearing the way for his South Side syndicate to seize the river terminals," Dante laid out, his voice calm, clear, and perfectly audible to every microphone pointed in their direction. "He used your bruised ego like a cheap tool, Victor. And while you were standing out here playing the hero with a megaphone, do you know where Julian Vance was?"
Victor swallowed hard, unable to speak.
Dante pulled a sleek silver smartphone from his pocket, unlocked it, and held the screen out toward Victor’s face.
"Julian Vance was sitting in a private suite at the Union League, signing over seventy percent of his South Side holding company to me," Dante revealed with a cold, terrifying smile. "In exchange for me not releasing the financial records proving he laundered twelve million dollars through your father’s freight line."
Victor’s face drained of what little color it had left. "What?"
"Your father is bankrupt, Victor," Dante said, delivering the death blow with absolute, surgical precision. "As of midnight, Hargrove Logistics belongs to the Moretti Trust. The suit you’re wearing belongs to me. The car you’re leaning against belongs to me. And tomorrow morning, the district attorney will unseal an indictment for wire fraud and money laundering with your father’s name—and yours—at the very top of the docket."
"No..." Victor dropped to his knees, his hands clutching his head. "No, that's impossible! You're lying!"
"You wanted to know who Rosa Bellamy is?" Dante leaned down, his voice dropping into a lethal, intimate whisper that only Victor and the nearest microphone could catch. "She is the future Mrs. Moretti. And you just gave me everything your family ever owned as an engagement present."
Dante raised the steel crowbar.
Victor shrieked, throwing his arms over his face, curling into a pathetic ball on the wet asphalt.
*CRACK!*
The crowbar didn't hit Victor’s skull. It smashed into the front grille of the black Suburban, shattering the radiator and sending a hiss of white steam exploding into the freezing night air.
Dante tossed the crowbar aside. It clattered loudly against the pavement.
He turned toward the nearest reporter, a young woman clutching an umbrella with trembling hands.
"I believe you have your story," Dante said smoothly. "Now get off my property."
Without waiting for a response, Dante turned on his heel, walked back over to Rosa, and swept her up into his arms, carrying her effortlessly against his chest as he turned toward the warm, brightly lit lobby of Aurelius Tower.
May you like
Rosa rested her head against his soaked shoulder, the sound of his steady, powerful heartbeat drumming beneath her ear, finally letting herself close her eyes as the heavy glass doors sealed the chaos of the world away behind them.
***
