Chapter 7 - The Vulnerability of Kings
The fire at Sartoria Mitchell was contained, but the shop was temporarily ruined. Lorenzo moved Daisy back to his estate, but this time, she didn't stay in the guest wing. She stayed in his master bedroom, her body wrapped in his silk sheets, her heart finally safe behind his stone walls.
The war reached its peak forty-eight hours later.
Lorenzo’s men launched a simultaneous strike on every remaining Maroni asset in Illinois. By midnight, Dominic Maroni was captured at a private airfield in Gary, Indiana, trying to board a charter flight to Miami. He was turned over to the federal authorities with a massive, unredacted file of evidence that would ensure he spent the rest of his life in a maximum-security prison.
The Bianco monopoly was absolute.
The evening after the victory, Lorenzo entered the master bedroom. He looked exhausted, his white shirt stained with grease and soot, his tie missing. He sat on the edge of the massive velvet bed, his head sagging into his hands.
Daisy crawled across the mattress, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders from behind. She pressed her face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him.
"Is it over?" she whispered.
"It is over," Lorenzo said, his voice raw. He turned around, pulling her into his lap, his face burying into the softness of her neck. "The Maronis are gone. The city is quiet. But Daisy... I almost lost you tonight. When I heard the gunfire over the radio, my heart stopped. I’ve spent fifteen years building an empire so I would never have to feel afraid of anything, and in five minutes, a tailor from Elm Street made me feel like a child standing in the dark."
Daisy pulled back, her warm brown eyes looking into his storm-colored ones. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing over the dark stubble on his jaw.
"You didn't lose me, Lorenzo," she said softly. "You saved me. And I saved myself, a little bit, too."
"You did," he said, a small, reverent smile touching his lips. "You took out a Maroni capo with a pair of scissors, Daisy. The boys at the social club are going to be talking about the 'Mitchell Cutter' for the next twenty years."
Daisy laughed, the sound bright and warm in the quiet room. "The shop is ruined, Lorenzo. The vintage silks are gone. The mirrors are broken."
"We will rebuild it," Lorenzo said, his voice turning serious, filled with an absolute, unyielding certainty. "We will build a new shop. Larger. Modern. With reinforced glass and a private workshop for you. But you won't just be tailoring my suits anymore, Daisy."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather box.
When he opened it, a massive, flawless emerald-cut sapphire caught the light of the bedside lamp. The deep blue stone was flanked by two brilliant diamonds, set in a thick, heavy band of platinum.
"I don't want a contract, Daisy," Lorenzo murmured, his fingers trembling slightly as he took her left hand. "I don't want a year of your work. I want your life. I want your laughter in my house, your red lipstick on my sheets, and your stubborn heart holding mine together. Marry me, Daisy. Let me be the foundation you stand on when your ankles give out."
May you like
Daisy looked at the sapphire, her eyes filling with tears of pure, unfiltered happiness. She looked at the man who had knelt at her bleeding feet, the man who had turned a city upside down to keep her safe.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, Lorenzo. I’ll marry you."
