Chapter 7 - The Hunt in the Rain
The infant’s cry seemed to cleanse the violence from the air, turning the sterile medical suite into a cathedral of impossible grace. Dr. Rossi smiled through his exhaustion, quickly cleaning the child and wrapping her in a warm, pristine white blanket before gently placing her onto Isabella’s bare chest.
Isabella looked down at the tiny, red-faced miracle resting against her skin. The baby had a shock of dark, midnight hair—identical to Dante’s—and tiny, perfect fingers that immediately curled around her mother’s thumb.
“She’s breathing,” Isabella whispered, fresh tears cascading down her cheeks as she pressed her lips to the infant’s forehead. “They said she would never take her first breath... but look at her. She’s here.”
Dante knelt beside the bed, completely paralyzed by the sight before him. The man who had commanded thousands of hardened killers, who had ordered executions without flinching, was weeping openly. He reached out with a trembling, scarred finger, gently brushing the baby’s impossibly soft cheek.
“What is her name?” Dante asked, his voice barely a rasp.
Isabella looked up at him, her dark eyes shining with forgiveness and fierce pride. “Lucia. After your brother. Because the truth brought her back to you.”
Dante swallowed hard, kissing Isabella’s lips with a reverence he had never known he possessed. “Lucia Moretti. The princess of Chicago.”
A soft knock sounded at the door. Marcus stood outside, looking battered and bruised, but his eyes were resolute. Dante lingered for a moment, kissing his daughter’s tiny forehead one more time, before stepping out into the hallway.
“Is it done below?” Dante asked, the softness vanishing instantly from his face, replaced by the chilling steel of a Don.
“The capos have reviewed the federal documents, boss,” Marcus reported. “The tribunal is unanimous. Don Cavallo and the council have stripped the Sterlings of every asset, every title, and every protection. They belong to you.”
Dante walked down the grand staircase, his black trench coat billowing behind him. In the courtyard outside, the November rain had turned into a freezing sleet, washing the blood from the stone pavers into the iron drains.
Richard Sterling and Vanessa knelt in the center of the downpour, surrounded by twenty armed Moretti enforcers. Vanessa was shaking violently from the cold, her designer gown ruined, her makeup streaked like black tears across her face.
When she saw Dante emerge into the courtyard, she crawled forward on her hands and knees, grabbing the hem of his coat.
“Dante! Please! I loved you!” she screamed, her voice cracking against the freezing wind. “My father made me do it! He forced me to take the flash drive! I didn't want to hurt that girl! We can still fix this! We can run away together, take the money, and leave all of this behind!”
Dante looked down at her with nothing but cold, absolute disgust.
“You didn't want to hurt her?” Dante asked quietly. “You sent men to execute an innocent woman carrying my flesh and blood. You wrote a note telling her that my daughter would never take her first breath.”
May you like
He gently pulled his coat from her grasp, stepping back into the dry shelter of the grand archway.
“You wanted Isabella to die in a ditch, forgotten and penniless,” Dante said, turning his back on them. “Instead, she is inside my house, sleeping in my bed, holding the heir to the Moretti empire. And you... you will have the fate you designed for her.”
