Chapter 15 - The Clean Slate
The sun began to crest over the Chicago skyline, casting a warm, golden amber light across the sterile white floor of the hospital room.
For an hour, I sat beside Clara’s bed, answering her gentle, curious questions about where we lived, how our businesses were doing, and why she had been in an accident. I didn't tell her about Serena. I didn't tell her about the underworld hits, the warehouse shootouts, or the blood on my hands.
I told her about our home, our quiet dinners, and how much I loved her.
And for the first time in five years, as she smiled and squeezed my hand with genuine, untainted affection, I realized the terrifying truth:
The universe had given me a second chance.
The past year—the arrogance, the neglect, the poison of infidelity and hubris—had been brutally wiped from her mind. The slate was completely, miraculously clean.
The door to Room 412 clicked open, and Mateo stepped inside, standing quietly by the frame, waiting for my signal.
I looked at Mateo, giving him a subtle, definitive shake of the head. Moretti was neutralized, Julian was in a trunk, and Serena was locked away in a federal holding facility. The war was over.
I turned back to my wife, leaning over to press a tender kiss to her forehead.
May you like
“Are you going to take me home today, Dom?” Clara asked softly, her eyes shining with hope.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I whispered, smiling as a heavy, suffocating weight finally lifted from my chest. “I’m taking you home. And I’m never letting you go again.”
