Chapter 9 - THE WAR FOR CHICAGO
For forty-eight hours, the penthouse suite of the private underworld hospital in suburban Evanston was transformed into a fortress. Griffin underwent five hours of emergency surgery to extract the shrapnel and repair his lacerated liver. Outside, the streets of Chicago burned in an undeclared gang war.
Fay never left the edge of his bed.
She washed the soot from her skin in the small hospital bathroom, changed into clean clothes provided by Marco, and sat in the vinyl armchair with Griffin’s heavy gold signet ring clutched tightly in her palm. The capos who came in and out—hardened men who had spent decades killing for territory—treated her with hushed deference. They had heard the story from the ballroom; they had seen the blood on her clothes from the mansion assault; they knew she had put a bullet in Leo’s chest to save their king.
On the third night, the rain tapping against the reinforced hospital windows was the only sound breaking the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.
Griffin stirred.
His eyelids fluttered open, heavy and clouded, taking in the white ceiling before slowly turning toward the chair beside him. Fay was asleep, her head resting against the edge of the mattress, her small hand loosely holding his fingers.
Griffin watched her in the dim glow of the monitors. For ten years, he had lived surrounded by sycophants, opportunists, and killers who smiled while concealing knives. Celeste had shared his bed for a decade and had traded his life for a warehouse of contraband.
Yet this girl, who had nothing to her name but empty pockets and bruised survival, had leaped into gunfire for him.
Griffin gently squeezed her fingers.
Fay gasped, sitting bolt upright. Her eyes widened as she met his gaze, clear and alert.
"You're awake," she breathed, a breathless laugh escaping her lips as tears immediately welled in her eyes. "You're awake, you stubborn bastard."
"You look terrible," Griffin rasped, his voice rough as sandpaper, though warmth danced in his eyes.
"That's because I've been watching you pretend to be a corpse for two days," Fay said, wiping a tear from her cheek, smiling through her exhaustion.
Griffin pulled her hand up to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss against her knuckles. "Vance?"
"Dead," Marco’s voice came from the doorway. Marco stepped inside, holding a file folder. "The FBI raided his northside docks yesterday morning based on Celeste’s testimony. Vance tried to shoot his way through the federal perimeter. Took six rounds to the chest. It's over, boss. The south side capos just surrendered their territories. Chicago belongs entirely to you."
Griffin stared at the ceiling for a long moment, processing the finality of the ten-year feud. Then, he looked back at Fay.
"Leave us, Marco," Griffin ordered quietly.
Marco nodded respectfully and pulled the door shut, leaving them in the quiet glow of the room.
May you like
"It's over," Fay whispered. "You won."
"I didn't win anything, Fay," Griffin said, reaching out to cup her cheek, his thumb softly brushing away her remaining tear. "I survived. There's a difference." He pulled her down until her lips hovered an inch from his. "I survived because a girl with fire in her eyes decided I was worth saving."
