Chapter 9 - The Trial of ChicagoThe ICU waiting room at Northwestern Memorial Hospital was a quiet, sterile world of pastel walls and soft-soled shoes, but outside, the city was on fire.
For three days, Dante Russo lay in a medically induced coma while the doctors worked to repair the damage the bullets had done to his lungs and shoulder. Outside the hospital, the Russo security detail had turned the block into an armed camp, their massive black SUVs lining the curbs, their eyes scanning every pedestrian who passed.
Ellie hadn't left his side. She was still wearing the midnight-blue gown from the gala, now stained with Dante’s blood, her hair messy, her eyes hollowed out by exhaustion.
On the fourth morning, the door to the room slid open.
Silvio Moretti walked in, accompanied by two of his own men and a senior detective from the Chicago Police Department. He looked older, his face triumphant, a smug smile spreading across his thin lips as he looked at the quiet form of Dante in the bed.
"Well, well," Silvio rasped, leaning over the rail of the bed. "The king of Chicago nightlife looks a little small today, doesn't he?"
Ellie stood up slowly from her vinyl chair, her hand resting flat against the edge of the bed. She didn't look like a terrified bridesmaid from Logan Square anymore; she looked like the wife of Dante Russo.
"Get out," she said, her voice a low, cold vibration that made the detective shift his weight.
"I’m just here to offer my condolences, Mrs. Russo," Silvio said, his eyes mocking her. "And to deliver a message. The docks belong to the Morettis now. And once your husband's heart stops ticking, we’ll see what else we can take."
He reached out, his hand moving to touch the emerald ring on Ellie's finger.
Ellie didn't flinch. She pulled a small, black recording device from the pocket of Dante’s wool coat that was draped over her chair and held it up.
"This is a digital ledger of your personal bank accounts for the last three years, Silvio," Ellie said, her voice dropping into that quiet, absolute register she had learned from Dante. "It shows the transfers from the Majestic Star Casino. It shows the payments to the dock supervisors. And it shows the text messages you sent to the shooters who attacked us on Tuesday morning."
Silvio’s smile vanished. His face turned the color of ashes as he looked at the device.
"Where... where did you get that?" he stammered.
"Dante is a very private man, Silvio," Ellie said, taking a step forward, her gray eyes burning with an unshakeable, terrifying clarity. "But he is also a very smart one. He had Marcus tap your phones three weeks ago. The federal grand jury in Chicago has just signed the warrants for your arrest. You have exactly thirty minutes before the local deputies arrive at this hospital to take you to a place where the Moretti name doesn't mean anything."
Silvio looked at the detective beside him, but the officer only shook his head, looking down at his notepad.
"This is a lie!" Silvio screamed, his face turning a deep, angry red as he was led out of the room by his own men, his power evaporating in a single, three-minute conversation.
As the door slid shut, Ellie sank back into her chair, her body trembling as the adrenaline finally left her. She reached out and took Dante’s hand, her fingers wrapping around his.
"I did it, Dante," she whispered, her tears falling onto his hand. "I kept them away."
Beneath her palm, his fingers gave a faint, warm squeeze.
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Ellie looked up, her heart stopping as Dante’s dark eyes slowly opened, his mouth curving into a weak, genuine smile.
"I... I heard you, tesoro," he whispered, his voice rough but clear. "You... you are a very dangerous woman."
