Chapter 9 - When the Maid Becomes the Target
By dawn, the Chicago police and federal agents had completely cordoned off the Romano estate.
Eight of Salieri’s mercenaries had been neutralized, and the remaining three were in federal custody.
The mansion’s west wing suffered moderate fire damage, but the historic main house and the panic bunker remained untouched.
Mrs. Romano was wheeled out into the morning sunlight, wrapped in a warm wool blanket.
When she saw me covered in mud and bruised, she held out her arms and wept.
“My brave girl,” she whispered, kissing my hands. “Carmine would have loved your courage. You have the heart of a lion.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe, Mrs. Romano,” I smiled tiredly.
Matteo stood beside us, speaking quietly with Agent Harris of the FBI Organized Crime Task Force.
Because Matteo had handed over Dr. Vance’s ledger and the offshore bank records connecting Don Salieri to Carmine’s murder, the Department of Justice was preparing an unprecedented federal indictment against the entire Salieri syndicate.
However, Harris delivered a chilling warning.
“Salieri knows the maid has the photographic memory and the medical knowledge to tie the forensic logs to the physical evidence,” Harris said, glancing over at me. “There is an active five-million-dollar bounty on Claire Miller’s head in the underworld. She cannot stay in Chicago.”
Matteo’s jaw hardened into pure granite.
“She is not going into generic witness protection where Salieri’s dirty cops can find her.”
“Then what do you propose, Romano?” Harris asked.
“She stays with me,” Matteo said with absolute authority. “I have a fortified estate in the North Woods of Wisconsin. Off the grid. High-grade perimeter security. My mother, Claire, and I will go there until the trial.”
Two hours later, a convoy of unmarked armored trucks escorted us out of the city.
In the back of the private vehicle, I sat beside Matteo.
My bruised shoulder was throbbing, but I hadn't complained once.
Matteo noticed me wincing when the vehicle took a turn.
He reached over, took my hand, and gently rested it on his lap.
“You don't have to be strong all the time, Claire.”
“I'm used to it,” I whispered, looking out the tinted window at the passing forests. “When you grow up poor, weakness is a luxury you can't afford.”
Matteo looked at me with deep admiration.
“You are the strongest woman I have ever met. My father used to say that true royalty isn't born from money or titles—it's forged in loyalty and fire. Alessandra had all the pedigree in the world, but her soul was rotten. You have nothing but your honor, and you are priceless.”
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My heart fluttered wildly at his words.
The distance between a mafia boss and a former maid felt smaller with every passing second.
