The grand staircase of the Marchetti estate feels different this morning. The heavy wooden panels covering the shattered foyer windows are already gone, replaced by pristine, thick sheets of reinforced glass that reflect the bright morning sun. The air smells of fresh wax and expensive espresso, the lingering scent of gunpowder entirely erased.
Leo stands at the bottom of the stairs, a sleek leather folder tucked under his good arm. His black sling is gone, replaced by a neat, dark compression wrap beneath his tailored suit jacket. When Dante and I descend, his eyes instantly drop to my left hand, where the massive diamond wedding band glints in the sunlight, completely clean of flour dust.
"The caravan is idling in the courtyard, boss," Leo says, bowing his head slightly as Dante’s boots hit the marble floor. "The North Avenue perimeter has been swept twice. Marco’s boys are holding the intersection. It’s completely locked down."
"Good," Dante rumbles, his large hand resting firmly at the small of my back, his thumb pressing a slow, heavy rhythm through the fabric of my dark trench coat. "Did the Lucchesi scouts clear out?"
"They didn't just clear out, they fled the zip code," Leo replies with a sharp, humorless grin. He opens the heavy front door, allowing the crisp, lakeside air to rush into the foyer. "Old man Lucchesi signed over the northern shipping manifests at dawn. He knows if he breathes in our direction, those ledger pages hit the federal wire before his breakfast digests."
Dante guides me down the marble steps toward the lead armored SUV. The courtyard is immaculate, a dozen heavily armed guards standing at absolute attention. There are no whispers today, no searching glances. The syndicate has seen their Don take the city in less than twenty-four hours, and they look at the woman by his side with a quiet, terrified respect.
As the SUV tears away from the estate, joining the tight, fast-moving caravan, Dante pulls me across the leather seat until I am pressed flush against his torso. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a sleek, heavy gold key, sliding it into my palm before wrapping his massive, calloused fingers over mine.
"The foundry doors are locked from the inside," Dante murmurs, his amber eyes burning down into mine with that dark, predatory focus that makes my chest tighten. "This opens the executive entrance. From today, anyone who wants to deliver flour, fuel, or capital to that pier answers directly to you."
I look down at the gold key, the weight of it heavy and cold against my skin. "And if the other families try to use the pier to smuggle cargo under my nose?"
A low, terrifying purr vibrates through Dante’s chest as his grip on my hand tightens, pushing the diamond ring deep into my skin. He leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below my ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver straight down my spine.
"Then they learn that my wife doesn't just bake, Gianna," he whispers, his voice dropping into that razor-sharp register of absolute authority. "They learn that she commands the fire that will burn them alive. You are the Donna of this city now. Act like it.”