Chapter 9 - The New Ledger
Six months later, the estate was alive with the sound of laughter.
The bitter rivalry with San Francisco’s remaining syndicates had dissolved into a fragile, lasting peace, brokered not through violence, but through economic restructuring and the sheer force of Desmond’s unwavering authority.
The Gallagher empire was legitimate now, anchored by legal shipping contracts, real estate developments, and charitable foundations.
In the sunroom overlooking the gardens, Desmond sat in an ergonomic armchair, his legs stretched out comfortably before him. He could walk short distances with braces and a cane now, though the lingering nerve damage meant he still preferred resting when the California heat settled over the valley.
Sadi sat on the armrest of his chair, reading a medical journal while idly playing with the silver ring on her left hand.
The ring had appeared on her finger a month earlier, nestled inside a velvet box on her nightstand with a single, handwritten note: For services rendered to my heart. — D.
“You’re squinting,” Desmond noted, reaching up to gently tap the edge of her glasses.
“I’m reading about spinal regeneration therapies,” Sadi sighed, closing the journal. “There’s a new clinical trial in Zurich. I’m thinking about submitting your case files.”
Desmond caught her hand, pulling her down gently onto his lap.
He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“Stop worrying about my spine, nurse,” he murmured against her skin. “My legs work well enough to carry you wherever you want to go.”
Sadi wrapped her arms around his neck, a bright, genuine laugh escaping her lips.
May you like
“Is that a promise, Mr. Gallagher?”
“It’s a contract,” he whispered, kissing her softly. “And I never break my contracts.”
