Chapter 2 - The Chicago Safehouse
The private jet touched down at a private hangar outside O'Hare International Airport at 3:00 AM.
The Chicago air was biting, smelling of damp asphalt and industrial snow, but I barely felt it as I stepped off the rolling stairs with the sleeping baby safely bundled against my coat. Two black armored Suburbans idled on the tarmac, their exhaust plumes billowing white in the freezing wind.
Volkov walked beside me, his long strides effortless, acting as a human shield against the wind.
— My cousin Mia is expecting me, I said, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck. Her apartment is on the North Side.
Volkov didn't break his stride. He opened the heavy door of the lead Suburban, motioning for me to get inside first.
— Your cousin Mia received a very generous relocation bonus an hour ago, Volkov said smoothly as he slid onto the leather seat beside me, the heavy door thudding shut with the solid thud of a bank vault. She is currently on a first-class flight to Honolulu, courtesy of my logistics team.
I froze, spinning around to face him in the dark interior of the car. — What did you do? Why did you send her away?
— I didn't send her away, I relocated her, Volkov corrected calmly, his icy gray eyes catching the amber streetlights flashing past the bulletproof windows. You think you can walk out of my orbit after saving my daughter? You think my enemies in the Chicago syndicate won't find out within twelve hours that an unknown midwife performed a miracle on my private aircraft?
— I don't care about your enemies! I shouted, the grief and exhaustion of the past three months finally boiling over into blind fury. I have a life! I have a bag of clothes! I have a family history buried in a cemetery in London!
Volkov didn't yell. He didn't flinch. He simply reached out and caught my wrists, his grip unbreakable yet astonishingly gentle, pinning my hands softly against his chest where his heart hammered with slow, powerful beats.
— Your life in London ended three months ago on a wet bridge near the Thames, Elena, he said, his voice dropping into a brutal, undeniable truth. You weren't flying to Chicago to start over. You were flying because you had nothing left to lose.
My breath caught in my throat. The words hit me like a physical blow.
— How... how do you know about that?
— I know everything about the people who enter my circle, Volkov murmured, his gaze holding mine hostage in the dark. The police report called it an accident. Faulty brakes. A storm. But I checked the files. Luca Rossi was one of the finest pediatric surgeons in Europe. His brakes didn't fail by weather, Elena. They were cut.
The world inside the moving Suburban seemed to stop spinning.
— What did you say? I whispered, the sound tearing raggedly from my chest.
— Your husband’s death wasn't an accident, Volkov said, his face hardening into an expression of cold, merciless resolve. He was testifying against a pharmaceutical distribution network that was using St. Catherine's Hospital to launder synthetic opioids. Someone decided his integrity was a liability.
Tears—hot, furious, and long-denied—spilled over my eyelashes, cutting tracks through the cold air on my cheeks.
— The police... they told me it was a storm...
— The police in London are on a very long payroll, Volkov replied quietly. But here, in Chicago? In my city? No one touches what is mine.
He released my wrists, leaning back against the leather seat, his eyes fixed on the rain-slicked highway stretching out before us.
— You wanted a purpose, Elena? You wanted something to pull you out of your own head? You have my daughter, Clara, to keep alive. And I have the men who murdered your husband and your sons waiting for us in the dark.
May you like
He turned his head, looking straight into my eyes with a fierce, terrifying intensity that left no room for argument.
— You can never go home, Elena. Because your home doesn't exist anymore. But if you stay with me... I will give you vengeance.
