Chapter 8 - The Queen of Chicago
Two years later.
Spring had arrived in Chicago, melting the last of the snow and leaving the green lawns of the Gold Coast estate vibrant with fresh flowers.
The back garden of the Calvetti mansion was filled with the sound of laughter and children shouting. It was Leo’s seventh birthday party. A large colorful bouncy castle sat near the rose bushes, and half a dozen children from Leo’s private school were running across the grass, supervised by two polite security guards wearing casual polo shirts.
Sitting on a marble bench near the fountain was Toby—a small golden retriever puppy Leo had received that morning, currently asleep on a blanket.
Clara stood on the sunlit terrace, wearing a light blue summer dress, holding a glass of iced tea. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She looked happy, healthy, and entirely at peace.
A pair of strong arms wrapped gently around her waist from behind.
Vincent leaned down, resting his chin against her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her lavender perfume.
“You’re supposed to be inside reviewing the quarter-two port expansion reports,” Clara teased softly, leaning back into his solid warmth.
“I fired my chief accountant this morning,” Vincent murmured against her skin.
Clara turned her head in surprise. “Why?”
“Because he said we couldn't afford to buy the entire north pier,” Vincent smiled, his dark eyes filled with warmth. “I told him my wife already ran the numbers three weeks ago and proved we could buy the pier and two new cargo ships without touching our reserve capital.”
Clara laughed—a light, musical sound that filled the afternoon air. “He should have known better than to argue with my ledgers.”
Vincent turned her around in his arms, looking down at the woman who had transformed his dark, lonely world into a kingdom of light and strength.
Down on the lawn, Leo came running up the stone steps, his face sticky with chocolate cake, holding a toy airplane Vincent had built with him in the workshop the night before.
“Dad! Mom! Look!” Leo cheered, making the plane zoom through the air. “Carmine said he’s gonna teach me how to drive the golf cart after cake!”
“Carmine better keep it under five miles an hour, or I’ll audit his expense reports!” Clara called down with a laugh.
Leo giggled and ran back toward the bouncy castle, shouting for his friends.
Vincent looked down at Clara, his heart full, holding her close against his chest as the warm afternoon sun bathed the terrace in golden light.
Three years ago, Clara Jenkins was a broke waitress sitting in a rusted car, terrified of a sixty-five-thousand-dollar debt she didn't owe.
Now, she was the undisputed matriarch of the most powerful empire in Chicago—a woman who had taken a dark, feared mob boss and given him a home, a son, and a future that no rival would ever dare to touch again.
Vincent leaned down and kissed his wife under the clear blue sky.
“I love you, Clara,” he whispered.
May you like
Clara smiled up at her husband, holding his face in her hands.
“I know, darling,” she whispered back. “And the math on that will never change.”
