Chapter 12 - THE RETURN TO TORONTO
Two days after the bloodbath at O’Hare, the Chicago syndicate was officially reunified under Alexander’s absolute control.
Olivia Carter and Madison were placed under house arrest pending federal conspiracy charges.
The threat of Viktor Morena was permanently neutralized.
Yet, the victory felt hollow.
Alexander sat in the leather passenger seat of a rented sedan parked outside my apartment on Dupont Street in Toronto.
He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.
His knuckles were bruised and bandaged.
He looked out the frosted window at the falling snow, holding a small velvet box containing my wedding ring.
He knew he had no right to knock on my door.
He knew he didn't deserve forgiveness.
He reached for the door handle, intending to leave the ring on my porch and fly back to Chicago forever.
Before his fingers touched the metal, the passenger door clicked open.
I stood outside in the snow, wearing my heavy gray cashmere coat, holding two cups of steaming black coffee.
I didn't say a word.
I simply slid into the passenger seat beside him, closing the door against the howling wind.
Alexander stared at me in stunned silence, his breath catching in his throat.
“You’re going to catch pneumonia sitting out here like a stray dog, Alexander,” I said quietly, handing him one of the paper cups.
He took the coffee with trembling hands, his gray eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Emily,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“I didn't come to demand anything this time.”
“I know,” I replied, looking out the windshield at the quiet Canadian street.
“Marcus called me.”
“He told me about Olivia.”
“She orchestrated the delay on the day Grace died, didn't she?”
Alexander nodded slowly, his shoulders shaking with grief.
“She wanted us destroyed.”
“And we let her,” I said, a tear finally escaping down my cheek.
“We let our marriage become a casualty of our own pride and blindness.”
“Does this mean... is there any way back?” Alexander asked, his voice barely a breath.
I turned my head to look at him.
I saw the man I had loved for a decade.
The man who had failed us, but who had also crawled through hell to find the truth and bring me home.
“I don't know if we can ever go back, Alex,” I said honestly, placing my hand over his bruised fingers.
May you like
“The past is too heavy.”
“But maybe... we can start over.”
