Chapter 9 - THE CLEANUP
The rain washed the smell of gunpowder from my skin as I stood on the manicured lawn of the Lake Forest estate.
Within thirty minutes, the chaos was systematically swept away by men who hadn't been part of the betrayal. Black SUVs arrived quietly through the side gates, carrying Dante’s old guard—men who had been summoned from the south side the moment Leo confirmed the betrayal.
Bodies were wrapped in heavy canvas and loaded into the back of unmarked vans. Bullet-riddled furniture was carried out to a bonfire pit behind the stables. The shattered glass was swept away, and by four in the afternoon, a team of professional cleaners was scrubbing bloodstains from the library carpet with industrial solvents.
It was terrifyingly efficient. A war had been fought inside this mansion, eight men were dead, and by sunset, there wouldn't be a single piece of physical evidence left to prove it had happened.
I sat in the small glass conservatory near the back garden, nursing a cup of warm chamomile tea I had brewed myself from my own travel kit. My hands were still shaking slightly, the chemical stains on my fingers serving as a grim reminder of the morning’s events.
The door to the conservatory opened, and Leo Romano walked in.
He had removed his blood-splattered jacket and wore a clean white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He carried my leather medical bag in one hand and a thick manila envelope in the other.
He set the envelope on the iron table in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at the heavy package.
“Five hundred thousand dollars,” Leo said softly. “Two hundred thousand for your fee. Three hundred thousand extra from Dante. Plus a clean deed to a commercial property on Michigan Avenue if you ever decide to move out of Brooklyn.”
I looked at the envelope, then back up at Leo’s weary face. “Where is he?”
“In his room,” Leo answered. “The atropine wore off an hour ago. He collapsed in the hallway after... after he finished with Matteo. He’s bedridden again.”
I stood up immediately, reaching for my bag. “His heart—”
“He’s stable,” Leo stopped me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “The family doctor from Northwestern is with him now—a real doctor this time, one who isn't taking bribes from Vincent. He says Dante needs three months of bed rest, blood transfusions, and chelation therapy to remove the remaining arsenic from his system.”
I relaxed slightly, sinking back into the iron chair. “Did the doctor confirm the diagnosis?”
“He said if you hadn't flushed his stomach and identified the metalloid when you did, Dante’s heart would have failed by noon today,” Leo said. “You saved his life, Camilla.”
“I did my job,” I murmured, stirring my tea. “How are you handling the capos?”
“Leo took a deep breath, looking out at the rain hitting the conservatory glass. “Matteo’s lieutenants were rounded up in the city two hours ago. They’ve been given a choice: take a retirement package and leave North America, or join Vincent at the bottom of the lake. Most of them took the retirement.”
“And you?”
“I’m running the day-to-day until Dante can stand on his own feet,” Leo said with a slight, tired smile. “It turns out being the boss’s loyal manager is a lot more work than being his target.”
He tapped the manila envelope on the table. “There’s a car waiting for you at the front gate. It will take you to Midway Airport. A private jet is fueled and ready to take you back to Teterboro.”
I looked at the package of cash. It was enough money to retire, to expand my shop, to buy whatever I wanted for the rest of my life. But the weight of where it came from pressed heavily on my conscience.
“Can I see him before I leave?” I asked.
Leo looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes soften slightly. “He’s resting. But he left a message for you.”
“What message?”
Leo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined jewelry box. He set it on the table beside the money.
“He said every florist needs a proper pair of shears,” Leo quoted softly.
I opened the box. Inside lay a beautifully crafted, antique silver apothecary mortar and pestle, engraved around the rim with a single Latin phrase: Medicina vincit venenum—Medicine conquers poison.
I touched the smooth, polished silver, a small, genuine smile touching my lips.
May you like
“Tell him he’s still a terrible patient,” I said.
“I already did,” Leo replied. “He told me to double your tip.”
