Chapter 8 - The Office on Madison Avenue
Six months later, the high-rise office on Madison Avenue looked out over a bustling, sunlit Manhattan.
The mahogany desk was clear of clutter, save for a framed black-and-white photograph of a six-year-old girl with bright, fearless green eyes.
Dante Moretti sat in his executive chair, reviewing the quarterly operational reports for Moretti Global Logistics. The restructuring was complete. Every legacy asset tied to the old intelligence syndicates had been systematically audited, liquidated, or handed over to federal prosecutors under strict seal. The underworld whispered a different kind of name now—not the devil they feared, but the king who had cleaned his own house.
A soft knock rattled the frosted glass door.
"Come in," Dante said.
The door swung open, and Eleanor stepped inside, carrying a thick binder of shipping manifests and a small porcelain plate holding an impeccably frosted slice of chocolate cake.
"The European freight manifests for the Antwerp port have cleared customs," Eleanor said, placing the binder neatly on the corner of the desk. She then set the plate down right beside his coffee cup.
Dante looked down at the cake, a faint, genuine smile touching the corners of his mouth. "You're spoiling me, Eleanor."
"It's hazard pay," Eleanor retorted dryly, though her eyes were warm. "And before you ask, Lily is currently in the executive lounge drawing a very detailed caricature of the chief financial officer."
Dante chuckled low in his chest. "Tell her I expect a complete tactical briefing on his expression by five o'clock."
May you like
Eleanor shook her head with an amused smile and turned toward the door. "I'll let her know."
As she stepped out, Dante picked up his fork. He didn't rush. He took a single, careful bite, tasting the rich, bittersweet chocolate. The ghosts of Westchester were no longer screaming in the dark; they were resting in the sunlight, finally at peace.
