Chapter 15 - When Chicago Turned Against Him
Dinner did not magically fix everything.
That was probably why it mattered.
We talked.
Really talked.
About the months apart.
My anger.
His fear.
My father.
His sister.
School.
Business.
Then we began again.
Slowly.
No security vehicles outside my apartment unless there was a legitimate threat.
No investigations into my classmates.
No solving minor problems without permission.
Dante found these rules deeply unnatural.
He respected them anyway.
For three months, life almost became normal.
Then politics returned.
A mayoral candidate built his campaign around attacking the Richi name.
Every crime connected to Vittorio became Dante’s responsibility in speeches.
Television ads showed old photographs beside recent ones.
Protesters gathered outside businesses.
Some criticism was deserved.
Some was opportunistic.
Dante refused to respond aggressively.
“I spent years benefiting from the name,” he said. “I can survive the consequences.”
But employees could not.
Restaurants lost customers.
Construction projects were suspended.
Hundreds of jobs became uncertain.
Dante considered selling everything.
I disagreed.
“You’re running again.”
He frowned.
“I’m trying to protect employees.”
“By abandoning the companies?”
“By transferring them.”
“To who?”
“Buyers.”
“Who will probably fire half the staff.”
He disliked that.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Change the name.”
He stared.
“What?”
“Richi Holdings is the problem.”
“It’s also my family.”
“Exactly.”
I sat opposite him.
“What if the legitimate companies became employee-owned?”
Dante blinked.
“Employee ownership?”
“Yes.”
“You learned that in college?”
“I occasionally attend class.”
He smiled faintly.
I continued.
“Sell shares gradually to employees. Create independent boards. Remove yourself from daily control.”
“You want me to dismantle the dynasty.”
“Yes.”
His smile grew.
“My father would hate you.”
“Your mother might like me.”
“She would.”
The restructuring became the largest transition in company history.
Workers received equity.
Executives lost some control.
Dante stepped back.
Public opinion shifted slowly.
Then Adrian Vale’s trial began.
He called me as a witness.
Not the prosecution.
Vale’s defense.
Their strategy was obvious.
Present me as manipulated by Dante.
Suggest Marco lied.
Suggest the ledgers were fabricated.
On the witness stand, Vale’s attorney asked:
“Miss Ki, are you romantically involved with Mr. Richi?”
“Yes.”
“So your testimony may be biased.”
“My relationship does not change bank records.”
“Mr. Richi financially supports you?”
“No.”
“He paid for your employment.”
“I earned a salary.”
“He provided housing.”
“During an active threat.”
“He gave you protection.”
“Yes.”
“Would you describe yourself as emotionally dependent on him?”
I looked toward Dante.
He sat in the gallery.
Our eyes met.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I left him.”
The courtroom went silent.
I continued.
“I left for six months. I finished school courses. Worked. Rebuilt my relationship with my father. Dante and I came back together because we chose to.”
The lawyer tried another direction.
“Mr. Richi is feared in Chicago.”
“By some people.”
“Do you fear him?”
“No.”
“Never?”
I considered.
“Yes.”
Dante looked surprised.
“When?”
“The night I met him.”
“And now?”
“Now I fear what happens when good people believe power excuses secrecy.”
The prosecutor looked up.
So did the judge.
“And does Mr. Richi believe that?”
“He used to.”
“What changed?”
“He learned.”
It became a headline.
ELIZA KI: “HE LEARNED.”
Social media exploded.
Some people mocked it.
Some supported it.
I did not care.
I had told the truth.
Vale was convicted on multiple counts of fraud, conspiracy, witness intimidation, and corruption.
Matteo pleaded guilty.
Julian entered witness protection after testifying.
Gabriel received a reduced sentence related to the old crash cover-up and obstruction.
Lena visited him.
So did Dante.
Forgiveness, again, was complicated.
After the verdict, reporters surrounded us outside.
Someone shouted, “Mr. Richi, what happens now?”
Dante looked at me.
Then at the cameras.
“Now we build something better.”
That night, he took me to the roof of the old Richi building.
No guards nearby.
No champagne.
No dramatic setup.
Just Chicago.
He handed me a small box.
I stared.
“Dante.”
“Relax.”
“That is physically impossible when a man gives you a jewelry box on a rooftop.”
Inside was not a ring.
It was my mother’s brass key.
Mounted inside a simple silver pendant.
“I thought you should keep it differently.”
My eyes filled.
“This key started everything.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You did.”
I touched the pendant.
Then him.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“That sounded arrogant.”
“I love you too.”
“Better.”
He kissed me.
Below us, Chicago kept moving.
A city that once felt too expensive, too cold, too large for me.
Now it felt different.
Not because I owned any part of it.
Because I finally understood I did not need to.
I only needed a place inside it that was mine.
May you like
And a person beside me who understood the same.
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