Chapter 6 - FIRE IN THE STREETS
The war raged for three weeks. The city was a warzone. Warehouses burned, shipments were hijacked, and men on both sides disappeared into the Chicago River. Through it all, Emma stayed by my side. She wasn't just a maid, and she wasn't just a mob boss's daughter. She was brilliant.
She knew her father's supply lines, his safe houses, his weaknesses. With her intel, we dismantled the Rossi operation piece by piece. My men, who had once sneered at my "maid wife," now bowed their heads when she walked past. She had earned their respect in blood and strategy.
But the stress was breaking us. One night, after a massive hit on a Rossi casino, I came home covered in blood—not mine—and exhausted to my bones. I found Emma in my study, pouring two glasses of scotch.
"We took the docks," I said gruffly, taking the glass from her.
"I know. I heard the radios," she said. She looked at the blood on my shirt, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to unbutton my cuffs. "You're pushing yourself too hard, Preston."
"I have to end this before he gets to you."
She looked up at me, her hazel eyes reflecting the dim light of the desk lamp. "I've spent my whole life running from monsters, Preston. But I'm not running from you."
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I didn't think. I just moved. I pulled her against me, capturing her lips in a bruising, desperate kiss. She tasted like scotch and fire, and she kissed me back with a fierce, ravenous hunger. For the first time in two years, the ghost of my past faded, replaced by the burning reality of the woman in my arms.
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