Chapter 7 - The New Logistics of Power
Three months later, Chicago’s winter had settled into a sharp, brilliant clarity. Snow dusted the tops of the skyscrapers, and ice skimmed the edges of Lake Michigan, but inside the headquarters of Gallagher-Corvino Logistics, the atmosphere was red-hot.
The merger of Gallagher Freight’s massive fleet with the Corvino syndicate’s secured trade routes had created an unstoppable logistical empire. In ninety days, shipping efficiency was up forty percent, smuggling on their lines was entirely eliminated, and stock prices had hit an all-time high.
Beatrice stood in her new corner office on the top floor, looking out at the city skyline.
She wore a burgundy velvet dress that hugged every curve of her figure, paired with a gold belt and heels. She didn't weigh herself anymore. She didn't listen to her mother’s frantic, ignored text messages. She didn't care about the high-society rumors.
She was healthy, wealthy, and vastly powerful.
The private elevator doors chimed open behind her.
Dante stepped out, wearing a charcoal coat over a black turtleneck. In his hand, he carried a small white box tied with a gold ribbon.
“You’re working late,” Dante said, walking across the polished hardwood floor toward her.
“I’m finalizing the Detroit rail contract,” Beatrice replied, turning to smile at him. “Someone has to keep this empire running while you’re out making people nervous.”
Dante laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and pulling her back against his broad, warm chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her jasmine perfume.
“You run the empire better than anyone I’ve ever met,” Dante murmured, kissing the side of her neck.
Beatrice leaned back into his touch, feeling completely safe in his arms. Over the past three months, their business alliance had deepened into a fierce, passionate relationship built on mutual respect, trust, and an undeniable physical chemistry. Dante didn't try to control her; he championed her. He didn't want her smaller; he worshipped every inch of her.
“What’s in the box?” Beatrice asked, glancing at the white box on her desk.
Dante let her go, picking up the box and handing it to her. “A delivery from a bakery in the West Loop. Cinnamon pastries. The good kind.”
Beatrice opened the box, her eyes lighting up at the warm, frosted rolls inside. She picked one up and took a bite. “Mmm. You’re trying to spoil me.”
“I’m trying to keep my business partner happy,” Dante corrected with a wink.
He leaned against the edge of her desk, watching her eat with an affectionate look in his eyes.
“I received a call from the state penitentiary today,” Dante said casually. “Preston’s legal team tried to appeal his sentence. The judge threw it out in five minutes.”
Beatrice swallowed her pastry, wiped her fingers with a napkin, and nodded slowly. “Good. He can spend his eight years thinking about logistics.”
“And your mother?” Dante asked gently.
“She sold the house in River Forest to pay off Caroline’s debt,” Beatrice said, her tone devoid of bitterness. “They moved into a townhouse in Naperville. Caroline is working as a receptionist at a boutique. They don't call me anymore.”
“Do you miss them?”
Beatrice looked out at the Chicago skyline, the city lights twinkling like stars against the dark snow.
“I miss the family I wished I had,” Beatrice admitted softly, turning back to Dante. “But I don't miss the people who treated me like garbage. I spent twenty-six years trying to earn love from people who only saw me as a contract. I’m done paying for empty seats at the table.”
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Dante stepped closer, taking her hands in his. His eyes were dark, serious, and filled with a profound warmth.
“You don't have to search for a table anymore, Beatrice,” Dante whispered. “You built your own.”
