Chapter 9
Anselm turned from the window.
Standing in the doorway of the library, rubbing her eyes with the back of her sleeve, was Merrilee.
She had changed out of her party dress into pale blue flannel pajamas with cartoon rabbits, but pinned proudly over her left breast was the gold Penrose serpent and anchor. In her other hand, she held a battered storybook with colorful illustrations of sea creatures.
"Daddy," she said, her voice still thick with sleep. "Mrs. Gable said you were back."
The iron mask that had terrified capos, executed hitmen, and exiled his sister melted away entirely. Anselm smiled, dropping to one knee with open arms.
"Come here, sweetheart," he said softly.
Merrilee ran across the thick Persian rug, throwing her small arms around his neck. Anselm lifted her up, settling her securely against his hip as he stood. She buried her face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, oblivious to the faint, lingering trace of gunsmoke on his lapels.
"Did you catch the bad people?" she whispered into his ear.
"They won't be bothering us anymore, Merrilee," Anselm replied, kissing her cheek. "They went far away."
She pulled back, looking down at the heavy gold brooch pinned to her pajamas. Her small fingers traced the emerald eyes of the serpent. "Is this really mine forever?"
"It’s yours forever," Anselm told her, walking toward the high leather wingback chair by the fireplace and sitting down with her on his lap. "Because you are my daughter. No matter what anyone says, no matter where you go in this world, this house belongs to you."
"Can we have the pancakes now?" she asked, tilting her head with wide, hopeful eyes.
Anselm chuckled—a deep, genuine sound that hadn't echoed in these halls for years. "The chef is in the kitchen right now making the batter. Extra strawberries, just like I promised."
The library door clicked open, and Don Silvio stepped into the room.
The elderly capo was dressed in a dark wool overcoat, his silver cane clicking against the floorboards. He stopped five paces from Anselm’s chair, his milky eyes taking in the sight of the ruthless syndicate boss holding the little girl with absolute tenderness.
"Anselm," Silvio said, his voice grave and raspy.
"Silvio," Anselm acknowledged, his arm tightening slightly around Merrilee. "I thought you went home after the banquet."
"The commission held an emergency meeting at four this morning," Silvio said, leaning both hands on the silver handle of his cane. "We received word of what happened at Pier 9. We received word of Moretti’s apology."
"And?" Anselm’s tone grew cautious.
Silvio looked down at Merrilee, then looked back into Anselm’s eyes.
"The commission ratified the charter amendments, Anselm. By unanimous vote of the five families, Merrilee Penrose has been officially recognized as the sole heir to the Penrose syndicate, the harbor docks, and the family seat."
Anselm looked at the old man for several seconds. "You didn't do that out of love for me, Silvio."
May you like
"No," the old capo admitted honestly. "We did it because after what you did to Chicago tonight, no family in this country has the stomach to challenge your bloodline. You proved that whoever touches that girl invites extinction."
Silvio bowed his head slightly—a rare gesture of absolute deference from an elder of the commission—and turned to leave. "Enjoy your breakfast, Anselm. The city is quiet today."
