Chapter 24 Chapter 24

Chapter 24 Chapter 24
Elara’s POV. 

The air in the boardroom was thick with the smell of expensive tobacco. I walked in behind Dante, my heels clicking on the polished floor. 

I was pale, my surgical stitches pulling with every breath, but I didn’t stumble; I had enough adrenaline in my system to jump-start a dead heart.

"The student," an old man at the far end of the table whispered loudly. 

"The baby machine," another muttered, not even bothering to lower his voice.

Dante’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. 

He sat at the head of the long table, his hands folded. 

"I can hear you, by the way," I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. "And if you’re going to discuss my anatomy, at least have the decency to use the correct medical terminology. It’s a uterus, not a machine."

The room went silent.

Seven crime families were represented at this table, the true architects of the city’s misery, and they were all staring at a twenty-four-year-old in a maternity dress.

"I like her," a man to my left said. He was thick-necked with silver hair, a bottle of expensive Irish whiskey sitting in front of him. He poured a glass and slid it toward me. "For the nerves, girl."

I looked at the amber liquid, then back at him. "I’m pregnant."

The old man shrugged, completely unfazed. "Then it’s for the baby. The kid needs to toughen up early if he’s going to survive this family."

Dante snorted, a quick, dry sound that was the closest he’d come to a laugh in weeks. 

The tension in the room dipped just a bit, a small moment of levity.

"Enough with the pleasantries," a voice rang out from the middle of the table.

Aldo Ferraro leaned back in his chair, his silk tie perfectly knotted. He was the head of the Chicago syndicate, younger than the others, and significantly more dangerous. 

"Your house is unstable, Dante," Ferraro said, his eyes scanning the room. "First, the Petrovs blow up your warehouse. Then the Rossi girl, your own mistress tries to sell your shipping lanes out from under you. And now..." He gestured vaguely toward me. "Now your current wife is bleeding on the carpets of your own estate. You’re leaking, Moretti. And leaks lead to a sinking ship."

Dante leaned forward, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "The Rossis have been dealt with. The Petrovs are being hunted. My house is exactly where it needs to be."

"Is it?" Ferraro smiled, and it was a cold, jagged thing. "Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re distracted. You’re spending more on security for a single woman than most of us spend on our entire operations. The board doesn't like distractions. We like profit."

I answered before Dante could open his mouth. "At least our carpets are clean enough to see the blood, Aldo. I’ve heard in Chicago you use dark rugs because you can't stop your own people from stabbing you in the back long enough to vacuum."

A few of the older bosses chuckled. 

Ferraro’s smile tightened, his eyes narrowing as he focused on me.

"The girl has a tongue," Ferraro noted. "Let’s see if she has a brain."

"That’s why we’re here," A man said. He tapped a folder on the table. "The Rossi betrayal has left a vacuum in our financial sector. Isabella was the bridge to the European banks. Without her, the money is stagnant. We need a neutral party to oversee the transition until the war with the Rossis is stabilized."

Dante frowned. "I’ve already assigned my best analysts to the accounts."

"Your analysts report to you, Dante," Ferraro said. "We want someone who reports to the board. Someone who has proven they can spot a traitor before we do."

He looked at me. "The board proposes that Elara Vance temporarily oversee the financial arm of the syndicate. She exposed Isabella. She’s the one who found the Caldera deal. And most importantly, she’s neutral. She doesn't have a family name to protect. She only has the child."

Dante looked stunned. I felt the weight of his gaze on the side of my face, a mixture of shock and dawning horror. 

"She’s a medical student," Dante said, his voice strained. "She’s not a CFO."

"She’s a woman who has survived you for three months, Dante," the whiskey-drinker added. "That makes her more qualified than any MBA we could hire."

"I accept," I said.

Dante turned to me, his eyes wide. "Elara, no."

"The board has made a fair proposal," I said, looking around the table, meeting every pair of eyes. "I know the numbers. I know what Isabella was doing because I’m the one who tracked the transfers. If you want the money to move, I’m the one who knows the codes."

Ferraro smirked. "It’s settled then. The board will grant Mrs. Moretti full access to the encrypted ledgers. For the next ninety days, she is the bank."

The bosses filed out, leaving Dante and me alone in the boardroom.

The second the door clicked shut, Dante grabbed my arm.

"Do you have any idea what you just agreed to?" he hissed.

"Yes," I said, pulling my arm back. "I agreed to be the only person in this syndicate that everyone is afraid to kill."

"You agreed to be a target!" Dante paced the length of the table, his hands flying through the air. "They’re testing you, Elara. They don’t want you to succeed. They want you to fail so they have an excuse to strip me of my title and put Ferraro in my chair. They think you're a weak link they can break."

"Good," I said.

He stopped pacing and stared at me. "Why good? Are you losing your mind? You’re pregnant, you’re recovering from surgery, and you just took on the most dangerous job in the world."

"Because now they’ll underestimate me," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "They think I’m just a girl playing with numbers. They think I’ll get overwhelmed and run to you for help. But while they’re waiting for me to trip, I’ll be learning exactly where every cent of their money is hidden."

"Elara..."

"You told me once that I was a gear in your machine, Dante. Well, now I’m the one who controls the oil. If you want to keep your chair, you need me in that office."

He looked at me for a long time, "You’re not the same girl I brought home from the university," he whispered.

"That girl died in a warehouse fire," I said. "You should know. I’m not to be toyed with."

We walked out of the boardroom and up through the secret elevator that led back to the street level. 

As we stepped onto the sidewalk, Dante’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, his brow furrowing as he saw the caller ID.

"Lorenzo?" he answered. "I told you not to call unless it was an emergency."

I watched Dante’s face. In the span of three seconds, he went from irritated to deathly pale.

"What do you mean?" Dante asked, "How? The perimeter was locked down."

I stepped closer, my heart starting to race. "Dante? What is it?"

He didn't answer me. "Were they followed?" Dante asked into the phone. "Did you catch them?"

A pause. Then Dante lowered the phone. 

"Lorenzo just called from the house," Dante said.

"Is he okay?" I grabbed his lapels. "Is the staff okay?"

"Someone broke into the estate," Dante said, his voice hollow. “They took out the guards in the east wing."

"Did they steal something?" I asked, my mind racing through the safes, the jewelry, the cash.

Dante shook his head slowly.
"They weren't looking for money," Dante said.

"They went straight for the bedroom," Dante whispered. "They ripped the floorboards up and tore the vanity apart."

He looked at me, "They were looking for your journal."