Chapter 9 - The House in Astoria
Two months later, the backyard in Astoria looked almost respectable.
The chain-link fence had been replaced with solid cedar panels. The overgrown weeds had been cleared out and replaced with square patches of fresh sod, and a brand-new concrete patio slab sat outside the back door of the small, rented duplex where Emily and her little brother Leo now lived.
Leo sat at the patio table, tapping away at a laptop, a stack of medical textbooks piled high beside his elbow. He looked healthier—the hollow dark circles under his eyes replaced by the bright, clear gaze of a nineteen-year-old whose insulin supply wasn't hanging by a thread every thirty days.
And on the grass, stretched out in the warm autumn sunlight, was Siri.
The mastiff’s flank had healed cleanly, leaving only a faint pink scar beneath the brindle fur. He was gnawing half-heartedly on a rubber chew toy that Leo had bought him from the local pet store—a toy he treated with supreme indifference, preferring to keep one watchful eye on the back gate.
Emily stepped out the screen door carrying a tray of iced tea and a plate of lemon bars. She set them down on the table, wiping her hands on her apron.
"How's the macroeconomics paper coming, Leo?" she asked, leaning over to ruffle her brother's hair.
"Almost done," Leo groaned, stretching his arms over his head. "If I pass this midterm, I'm officially transferring to NYU in the spring. And honestly, Em... I still can't believe we actually afford this place now. That logistics agency must be paying you a fortune in tips."
Emily smiled, her eyes drifting toward the cedar fence. "Let's just say my new employer is very generous with employee retention bonuses."
A low, familiar rumble echoed from the front driveway—the unmistakable purr of a high-end twelve-cylinder engine idling outside their gate.
Siri’s ears went up instantly. He didn't growl. He didn't bark. He pushed himself up from the grass with a heavy, muscular grace and trotted over to the wooden gate, resting his chin on the top rail as the latch clicked open.
A man stepped through the gate. He wasn't wearing his tactical gear or his dark syndicate suits. He wore a simple black cashmere sweater, dark trousers, and leather gloves, looking completely out of place in a quiet residential neighborhood in Queens.
Enzo Dante stopped six feet from the gate, looking down at the mastiff. Siri gave a slow, rhythmic thump of his heavy tail against the walkway, acknowledging the man who had fed him prime rib and kept him safe for three years.
"Mr. Dante," Emily said, walking down the garden path, wiping her hands on her apron again. "You didn't call ahead."
"My security protocols don't require an appointment in a neighborhood with five-mile-per-hour speed limits," Enzo replied smoothly, though his dark eyes softened just a fraction as they took in the renovated yard, the green grass, and Leo studying at the table.
"Is there a problem?" Emily asked, her heart doing a small, involuntary flutter. "Did another faction try to move in on the docks?"
"The docks are quiet," Enzo said, stepping through the gate and walking over to pat Siri’s head—a gesture the mastiff accepted with dignified restraint. "In fact, the entire eastern seaboard is remarkably peaceful this month. Too peaceful. I found myself with an empty schedule and a surplus of time."
He reached into the pocket of his sweater and pulled out a small, flat manila envelope, holding it out toward her.
Emily took it cautiously. She opened the flap and pulled out a single sheet of heavy cream-colored paper—a deed of sale, stamped and notarized by the city of New York, transferring the absolute ownership of the duplex, the land, and the entire Astoria property directly to her name, free and clear of any mortgages or liens.
"What is this?" she whispered, looking up at him in shock.
"Your final retention bonus," Enzo said, his voice dropping into that quiet, absolute tone that brook no argument. "An asset like Brutus—or Siri—requires a proper estate with secure perimeter fencing. A cramped apartment in Queens was never suitable quarters for a dog of his pedigree."
Emily stared at the paper, then up at Enzo's face. The lines around his eyes were softer than they had been in the penthouse, but the sharp, dangerous intelligence of the man who ruled the city was still there beneath the surface.
"You didn't have to do this, Enzo," she said softly, using his first name for the first time without hesitation.
"I didn't have to let you walk out of my penthouse with my most valuable guard dog either," Enzo replied, a faint, genuine smile touching his mouth. "Some investments are simply worth the expense."
From the patio, Leo yelled out over his laptop, "Hey, Em! Is this guy staying for dinner? Because I can order takeout from that Thai place down the street!"
May you like
Emily laughed—a bright, clear sound that chased away the last lingering shadows of the cold New York winter. She looked down at Siri, who was currently leaning his heavy shoulder against Enzo’s leg as if sealing the contract himself.
"Yeah, Leo," Emily called back, her eyes locked on the crime lord of New York. "Order extra spring rolls. Looks like we've got company."
