Chapter 9 - The Return to Manhattan
The private Gulfstream touched down on the tarmac at Teterboro Airport just as the morning sun was breaking over the Manhattan skyline, painting the towering glass and steel structures in brilliant shades of gold and amber.
The air was crisp, clean, and carrying the unmistakable scent of a new beginning.
As our motorcade rolled back into the subterranean parking bay of the Moretti Tower, the entire administrative and security staff—alerted to our return—was lined up neatly in the pristine garage. When the black Suburban doors opened and I stepped out, carrying Mia on my shoulders while Elena walked beside me with her head held high, a unanimous, respectful round of applause echoed off the concrete walls.
The rot had been excised. The traitors were gone. The empire was secure.
Up in the executive suite on the forty-second floor, the shattered window had been completely replaced by flawless, bulletproof architectural glass that offered an uninterrupted, breathtaking view of the Hudson River.
I walked behind my massive mahogany desk, set my briefcase down, and turned around to look at the room.
The heavy oak door pushed open, and Mia toddled in unassisted, her pink sneakers squeaking softly against the polished hardwood floor. She marched straight past the sofa, walked right up to my custom executive leather chair, and stopped, looking up at it with a mixture of reverence and longing.
“Can I be the boss again today?” she asked softly, looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
I smiled, walked around the desk, and scooped her up effortlessly, lifting her high into the air before gently setting her down right in the center of the oversized leather executive chair.
She beamed, grabbed my heavy Montblanc pen from the blotter, and held it up like a scepter.
“All right, Boss Mia,” I said, resting my hands on the edge of the desk as I leaned down to her level. “What is your official order for today?”
Mia thought about it for a long, solemn moment, her little brow furrowed in deep concentration. Then, she looked past me, spotting Elena walking into the office with a stack of fresh freight invoices and a bright, genuine, tear-free smile on her face.
Mia turned back to me, her dark eyes shining with absolute wisdom.
“My order is: nobody cries ever again,” Mia declared proudly. “And we have strawberries for everybody.”
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I laughed out loud—a rich, full, joyful sound that echoed off the high ceilings of the Manhattan office, drowning out every ghost of the past.
“Order received, Boss,” I said, looking over at Elena, who was laughing softly as she shook her head. “Consider it done.”
