Chapter 9 - The Dawn Over Manhattan
Three months later.
The Manhattan skyline glowed in the soft, golden light of an October sunrise. The air was crisp, carrying the unmistakable scent of autumn and roasted coffee beans.
Inside the penthouse kitchen, the flour was gone, replaced by the warm, inviting aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
Andrew sat at the kitchen island, reading the financial section of the Wall Street Journal. The front-page headline blared: “MASSIVE RICO INDICTMENTS CRUSH MORETTI SYNDICATE; FORMER NYPD CAPTAIN ARRESTED IN CORRUPTION SCANDAL.”
The empire was secure. But more importantly, the rot had been cut out entirely.
Footsteps padded softly across the hardwood floor.
Andrew looked up.
Alex walked into the kitchen, wearing dinosaur pajamas, holding a wooden spoon in one hand and a bowl of strawberries in the other. He wasn't trembling. He wasn't eyeing the pantry with fear.
“Dad,” Alex announced clearly, climbing onto the barstool next to him. “Liz says I get to crack the eggs today.”
Andrew smiled—a genuine, unburdened smile that reached his eyes for the first time in years.
“Is that right?” Andrew chuckled, lifting his son onto his lap. “Well, if Liz says so, I suppose we have to follow orders.”
Elizabeth walked out of the pantry, wearing a soft gray sweater and an apron, holding a carton of farm-fresh eggs. She laughed, her amber eyes sparkling in the morning light.
“Rule number one in this kitchen,” Elizabeth said, pointing the carton at Andrew with mock seriousness. “The housekeeper’s word is law.”
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Andrew caught her hand, gently intertwining his fingers with hers, feeling the steady, warm pulse of a future he never thought he’d be allowed to have.
“Some laws,” Andrew whispered, pulling her close, “are an absolute pleasure to obey.”
