Chapter 6 - The Turning Tide
The aftermath of the ambush at Pier 14 reshaped the underworld of the West Coast overnight.
With Vance locked away in a federal penitentiary awaiting trial for attempted murder and racketeering, the Gallow syndicate absorbed the northern shipping routes without firing another shot.
Inside the sprawling estate, however, the atmosphere was changing.
The heavy, oppressive silence that had defined the mansion for six months was slowly being replaced by something resembling life.
One afternoon, Sadi walked into Desmond’s study carrying a fresh stack of medical charts.
To her surprise, Desmond was not sitting behind his mahogany desk.
He was standing.
He stood near the French doors, gripping the backs of two heavy wooden chairs for support. His legs shook violently, the muscle atrophy fighting against the newly calibrated nerve-stimulation braces Sadi had ordered from a German specialist last week.
His face was contorted in intense, white-knuckled concentration. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples.
Sadi froze in the doorway. She didn't drop the charts, but her breath caught in her throat.
“Don't,” Desmond gritted out, his voice tight with frustration as his left leg buckled slightly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Sadi carefully set the charts on a side table. She didn't rush toward him with a baby voice. She didn't coddle him.
Instead, she walked over and placed her hands firmly over his grip on the wooden chairs, anchoring them to the floor so they wouldn't slide on the hardwood.
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” she said quietly. “I’m just watching a man stand up.”
Desmond let out a harsh, ragged breath.
“It feels like lead,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on his trembling knees. “My brain tells them to move, and they just... ignore it.”
“Of course they ignore it. They’ve been on strike for six months. You have to negotiate back.”
He looked up at her. The ice in his pale blue eyes had melted into something raw, vulnerable, and terrifyingly honest.
“Why are you still here, Sadi?” he asked softly. “The war is over. Vance is gone. You could take your triple-rate paycheck, buy a brand-new car that actually starts, and never look at another grumpy mob boss again.”
Sadi looked at him. Really looked at him.
She saw the man beneath the scars, the survivor beneath the syndicates, the stubborn, brilliant, impossible bastard who had somehow become her entire world over the last two months.
“Because my succulent died, remember?” she said with a small, teasing smile. “I have terrible luck with plants. I need a new project.”
Desmond let out a low, rumbling laugh.
“Stubborn girl.”
“Stubborn boss.”
He took a breath, gripped the chairs tighter, and forced his right foot forward.
One inch.
May you like
Then two.
Sadi held the chairs steady, her heart hammering against her ribs, cheering for him silently with every fiber of her being.
