Chapter 7 - Return to Chicago
The private jet touched down at O'Hare International Airport under the cover of a moonless Chicago night.
The skyline gleamed in the distance—a glittering monument to the power Marco commanded. But tonight, that skyline felt like a battleground.
Mila and Leo had fallen asleep in the plush leather seats of the private jet, exhausted from the ordeal in West Virginia. Enzo had arranged for a convoy of four bulletproof SUVs to transport us directly to the Bellini compound on the North Shore—a heavily fortified estate surrounded by iron gates and private security.
As we stepped off the plane into the crisp night air, a convoy of black cars idling on the tarmac awaited us.
Marco held my hand tightly, his thumb rubbing soothingly over my knuckles. "Are you ready for this, Elena?"
I looked out at the familiar Chicago lights, feeling a strange metamorphosis taking place inside me. The timid, heartbroken woman who had fled this city three years ago was gone. In her place stood a mother who had fired a gun to protect her children, a woman who had been lied to, betrayed, and hunted.
"I'm ready," I said, my voice steady and cold. "Let's go see my sister."
The drive to the North Shore estate took forty minutes. When the iron gates parted, revealing the sprawling limestone mansion where I had once lived as a naive newlywed, a cold rush of adrenaline washed over me.
Inside the grand foyer, guards stood at attention. Marco led us into the private study, settling Mila and Leo in a secure, comfortable room upstairs with a trusted nurse, before turning his attention back to me.
"Enzo has tracked Clara," Marco said, walking over to his mahogany desk and pulling up a digital tablet. "She's been living high on the hog in a penthouse downtown, acting as a liaison for the Moretti family. She thought she had won everything."
"She's going to find out how wrong she is," I said, stepping up to the desk. "I want to talk to her, Marco. I want her to look me in the eye when I take everything away from her."
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Marco smiled—a dangerous, predatory grin that showed he loved this fierce, unforgiving side of me just as much as he loved the gentle baker I had pretended to be.
"Done," Marco said, dialing his phone. "Enzo? Bring her in. Put her in the basement holding room. We're coming down."
