Chapter 8 - The Legacy Restored
Six months passed.
The city had changed dramatically. With Marcone’s syndicate dismantled and the corrupt harbor officials in prison, crime across the eastern district dropped by forty percent.
The construction on the Arthur Sterling Memorial Park at Pier 9 was progressing rapidly.
Where rusted shipping containers and oil slicks once stood, green lawns, wooden boardwalks, and flower gardens now looked out over the sparkling blue waters of the bay.
I stood at the edge of the new wooden pier, wearing a cream cashmere sweater and jeans, watching the sunset cast golden rays across the water.
Behind me, the soft sound of footsteps echoed on the wood.
Gabriel walked up beside me, pulling his wool coat tighter against the cool evening breeze. Cooper, a golden retriever we had adopted three months ago from a local shelter, ran ahead, chasing seagulls along the shoreline.
“The city council approved the final funding for the park’s children’s library this morning,” Gabriel said, placing his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close against his warm side.
“My father would have loved that,” I said softly, leaning my head against his shoulder. “He always said books were the only things people couldn't steal from you once you read them.”
“Your father was a smart man,” Gabriel murmured, pressing a soft kiss into my hair. “He raised a daughter who brought down the most dangerous mob boss in the state with a laptop and a red dress.”
I laughed softly, turning in his arms to look up into his striking gray eyes.
Over the last six months, the cold, ruthless mobster the city feared had revealed a side of himself that only I was allowed to see. He was protective, deeply loyal, surprisingly patient, and possessed a quiet tenderness that filled every corner of my life with warmth.
“What about Costa Enterprises?” I asked playfully, adjusting his scarf. “Are the legitimate shipping contracts keeping you busy?”
“Extremely,” Gabriel smiled. “Leo complains every day that he has to wear a necktie instead of carrying a gun, but our quarterly profits are higher than they ever were under the old ways.”
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“Good,” I said, kissing his chin. “Because your Chief Financial Officer demands a raise.”
“You own forty percent of the company, Nora,” Gabriel chuckled, his hands wrapping around my waist. “You already give yourself raises.”
