Chapter 10 - The New Dawn
When we finally managed to physically force the incredibly hot, warped steel door open several agonizing hours later, the sprawling mansion was absolutely nothing but a field of smoking, black ash.
My mother's brutal, manipulative reign of terror had been completely and utterly incinerated, violently taking every single one of her fiercely loyal mercenaries down into hell with her.
We thankfully found Beatrice's terrified daughter completely and miraculously safe, cleverly hidden away in a heavily fortified, remote subterranean wing of the estate that the massive fire simply hadn't reached.
The deeply emotional, tearful reunion between the sobbing mother and her confused but unharmed child finally washed away the decades of pitch-black darkness that had stained my soul.
Over the course of the next few incredibly busy weeks, I methodically used Matteo's hidden ledger to systematically dismantle the corrupt Chicago syndicate piece by bloody piece.
I anonymously handed over hundreds of millions of dirty dollars to various orphanages, charities, and federal task forces, aggressively erasing my family's deeply bloody, shameful legacy from the city forever.
Matteo finally chose to step completely out of the suffocating shadows, genuinely ready to peacefully rebuild a completely legitimate, quiet life far away from the criminal underworld.
I happily bought a beautiful, incredibly quiet, and heavily secluded cattle ranch deep in the mountains of Montana, thousands of miles away from the frozen, violently bloody streets I once ruthlessly ruled.
Beatrice and her bright, laughing daughter willingly came with me, and for the very first time in my entire miserable life, I finally knew exactly what real, unburdened peace felt like.
We were finally completely free from the haunting, manipulative ghosts of our extremely violent past, ready to build a family built on actual love instead of bloody loyalty.
But late on a surprisingly warm Tuesday evening, as I stood smiling and watching Beatrice laugh joyfully in our blooming garden, a secret burner phone I had hidden in my toolbox years ago suddenly began to ring.
The flashing caller ID on the cracked digital screen displayed a highly classified sequence of zeros that I knew exclusively belonged to the legendary High Commission out in New York City.
May you like
I slowly pressed the phone to my ear, my blood running slightly cold as a deeply raspy, terrifyingly familiar voice on the other end chuckled softly into the receiver.
"Did you really think Eleanor was the top of the food chain, Dante, or are you actually ready to learn who gave the order to burn Chicago?"
