Chapter 6 - Shadows in the Streets
Two hours later, Richard Calvetti was escorted out of the Calvetti Tower in handcuffs by federal agents, facing charges of grand larceny, wire fraud, arson, and corporate embezzlement.
Dante sat alone in his private office on the twentieth floor. The afternoon sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass, casting long golden light across his desk. I stood by the door, my coat over my arm and my leather bag over my shoulder.
"You're leaving," Dante said without looking up from his hands, which were resting on the desk.
"My work is done," I replied softly. "The children are safe at your estate. The land is protected by the city trust. And you have your son."
Dante stood up and walked toward me. The fierce corporate predator was gone; in his place was a man who looked exhausted, bearing the weight of a painful past that had finally caught up to him.
"You lied to me for six months, Clara," he said, stopping a foot away from me.
"I had to protect them," I said simply. "I didn't know who you were, Dante. I thought you were just like your uncle."
"And what do you think now?" he asked, his gray eyes searching my face with a raw, intense focus.
"I think you're a man who lost his way because the wrong people raised him," I said gently. "And I think Tommy needs his father."
I turned to pull open the heavy door, but Dante’s hand caught my wrist. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm, warm, and entirely unyielding.
"Don't go," he said quietly.
I looked down at his hand, then up at his face. "Dante..."
"I can handle the board. I can handle the media. I can handle my uncle's trial," Dante said, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "But I don't know how to be a father to six children who have been hurt by the world. Tommy trusts you. They all trust you. I need you, Clara. Not as my assistant. As their protector. As my partner."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Partner?"
May you like
Before he could answer, his private phone rang on the desk. He pressed speaker.
"Boss," Vance’s voice came through the line, sharp and urgent. "We have a problem at the Lake Forest estate. A group of unidentified vehicles just breached the perimeter gates. They aren't local police. They're mercenaries hired by your uncle's offshore associates before his arrest."
