Chapter 10 - The New Dawn
The morning sun broke through the heavy gray clouds over Lake Michigan, painting the Chicago skyline in brilliant strokes of gold, copper, and pale amber. The sleet and ice from the previous night had melted into glittering puddles across the cobblestone driveway of the Lincoln Park estate.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite, wrapped in a heavy cashmere robe, sipping a cup of warm ginger tea that Dr. Mercer had approved for the morning sickness.
Down in the courtyard, two black SUVs idled near the grand fountain. Dorian stood beside the driver’s side door, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit, fastening his cufflinks with calm, deliberate movements. He was heading down to the Portside docks to finish what Moretti had started—to dismantle the syndicate’s leverage once and for all, armed not just with corporate leverage, but with the absolute, unyielding fury of a man protecting his home and his family.
He looked up toward the third-floor window.
Even from twenty yards away, our eyes met. He didn't smile—Dorian wasn't a man given to grand, theatrical gestures—but he gave a single, firm nod, raising his hand in a silent promise that he would be coming back through those front doors before sundown.
The heavy double doors behind me clicked open, and Noah stepped into the room, holding a secure encrypted tablet.
“Mr. Cross is clearing the outer perimeter gate now, Mrs. Cross,” Noah reported respectfully. “The federal indictment papers for Caleb have been securely delivered to the U.S. Attorney’s office downtown. By noon, the syndicate’s financial network in the city will be frozen.”
“Thank you, Noah,” I said softly, turning away from the window and placing a protective hand over my stomach.
The divorce papers we had stared at twenty-four hours ago in that downtown law office felt like a relic from an entirely different lifetime—a nightmare dreamed up by two strangers who didn't know how to communicate in the dark. But the storm had broken. The lies had been stripped away, leaving behind something raw, terrifying, and indestructible.
May you like
I walked over to the dresser, picked up the small silver picture frame holding a photograph of Dorian and me from our wedding day three years ago, and set it upright where it belonged.
He was coming home. And this time, we were building something that nothing in Chicago could ever tear down.
