Chapter 10 - The Secret Ledger
Norah dropped to her knees, screaming his name as she frantically began chest compressions on his bloody torso.
She pressed down with all her remaining strength, completely refusing to accept that she had lost him after everything.
She begged him to wake up, counting the compressions out loud just like she counted the rows in her spreadsheets.
Suddenly, a fleet of black SUVs tore down the exit ramp, screeching to a halt all around her.
Dozens of loyal Gallagher soldiers poured out, pulling Norah back and allowing their private medical team to rush forward.
The paramedics hit Declan with a defibrillator, the violent shock lifting his massive frame completely off the concrete floor.
On the third shock, Declan gasped violently, his eyes flying open as a weak, erratic heartbeat finally returned to the monitor.
Norah collapsed into the arms of a loyal guard, sobbing with profound, overwhelming relief as they rushed Declan into an ambulance.
Three weeks later, the warm afternoon sun filtered beautifully through the massive windows of a secure, private estate in the Hamptons.
Declan was sitting in a plush leather armchair, a thick blanket covering his healing legs, looking incredibly handsome despite his scars.
Norah walked into the room carrying two cups of hot coffee, wearing a soft cashmere sweater and a genuine, radiant smile.
Her mother had been safely relocated to the finest private medical facility in the country, completely protected by Declan's loyal army.
Marcus and the remaining traitors had been quietly and permanently dealt with by the surviving Gallagher captains.
Declan reached out and pulled Norah gently onto his lap, burying his face in the soft scent of her hair.
He kissed her deeply, a tender, passionate promise of the beautiful, safe future they were going to build together.
The terrifying nightmare was finally over, and the empire was firmly back in the hands of the rightful king.
Later that evening, the estate's private courier handed Norah a heavily sealed, unmarked black envelope.
She opened it at the kitchen island, pulling out a faded, highly classified syndicate file dated thirty years ago.
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The file contained a photograph of her sweet, elderly mother holding a customized sniper rifle and wearing a mafia boss ring.
A handwritten note attached to the photo read, "Your mother was the deadliest assassin in Chicago, and her enemies just found your new address."
