Chapter 4 - The Price of DoubtThree weeks passed.
The fallout from the gala had completely restructured the Chicago underworld. Julian’s faction was eradicated, the federal investigation into the Valente Foundation was officially closed with high praise for Clare’s forensic work, and the family’s legitimate operations were cleaner than they had ever been in three generations.
Matteo Valente sat in his pristine, silent office on the top floor of the Valente Tower.
The city spread out below him under a gray winter sky, but he took no pleasure in his empire. His desk was piled high with legal documents, but his attention was fixed entirely on a small velvet box sitting near his keyboard.
Inside was the platinum ring.
Every night for twenty-one days, he had driven to the street outside Clare’s West Loop apartment building. He had sat in his armored car for hours, watching the soft yellow light in her third-floor window until it turned off at midnight. He hadn't approached her. He hadn't sent guards. He knew that if he forced his way into her life again, he would lose her forever.
A soft knock sounded at his office door. Dominic stepped inside.
"Boss," Dominic said quietly. "The final decree papers for the legal separation arrived from her lawyer this morning."
Matteo stared at the white envelope in Dominic’s hand. It felt like a death warrant.
"Did she sign them?" Matteo asked, his voice hollow.
"Yes, sir. She signed them yesterday." Dominic hesitated, then walked forward and placed a small leather ledger next to the envelope. "She also sent this back."
Matteo frowned, looking at the ledger. "What is this?"
"It's a complete accounting of her personal expenses over the last three weeks," Dominic explained, a hint of admiration in his old eyes. "She calculated the cost of the security detail I sent to her building without her permission—down to the hourly wage of the men and the fuel for the cars. She attached a cashier's check for the exact amount. She refused to let you pay for her safety."
Matteo let out a short, painful, breathless laugh. "She really hates my money, doesn't she?"
"She doesn't hate your money, Matteo," Dominic said gently, using his boss’s first name for the first time in years. "She hates that you thought her love could be bought—and that you thought it was cheap enough to be betrayed for a forged ledger."
Matteo covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on the heavy oak desk. The powerful mob boss who had negotiated peace between five warring factions was completely helpless against the memory of a woman with dark brown curls and an unyielding soul.
"I ruined it, Dominic," Matteo whispered through his fingers. "I had the only pure thing in this rotten world, and I shattered it because I was afraid."
"Then fix it," Dominic said bluntly.
Matteo looked up. "How? She returned every dollar. She won't accept gifts. She won't take property. She won't talk to my lawyers."
"Then stop acting like a mob boss trying to buy back an asset," Dominic advised, leaning over the desk. "Go to her as a man who has nothing left to lose."
Matteo looked at the velvet box. Then he looked at the separation papers.
Slowly, deliberately, he grabbed the white envelope, tore the separation papers in half, and tossed them into the wastebasket.
He picked up the ring, stood up, and grabbed his coat.
May you like
"Where are you going, boss?" Dominic asked.
"To learn how to apologize," Matteo said.
