Chapter 9 Ledger
LEDGER
“You’re making a mistake.”
Alexi is sitting across from me in my office, feet propped on the edge of my desk like he owns the place. He’s eating an apple from my fruit bowl and looking at me like I’m an idiot.
“Explain,” I say.
“Taking her back to Chicago? The city where her ex and her dead mom are? Dad, that’s like emotional warfare.”
“It’s a business trip.”
He takes a bite of the apple. “You’re forcing her into a situation where she can’t avoid you. Where she has to confront her past and her present at the same time.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that it might backfire. She might hate you for it.”
I consider this. He’s not wrong.
She can’t run from me when we’re on a plane together. Can’t take the south stairwell when we’re in hotel meetings. But it’s also dangerous. Chicago holds her trauma. Her mother’s death. Her ex’s betrayal. Dragging her back there might push her further away instead of closer.
“Noted,” I say.
“That’s it? Noted?” Alexi throws the apple core in the trash. “Dad, you like this woman. I can tell. So maybe try not being so much like yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re used to controlling everything. But you can’t control her. She doesn’t remember you. She doesn’t owe you anything. So if you want her to actually want to be your wife, maybe treat her like a person instead of a problem to solve.”
I stare at my son. When did he get so wise?
“When did you become a relationship expert?” I ask.
“When I started dating Elena. She doesn’t put up with my bullshit, and it’s made me a better person.” He stands. “Just think about it, okay? Don’t be so much like you that you lose her before you even get her back.”
After he leaves, I sit with his words.
He’s right. I’m treating this like a problem to solve.
Find wife.
Make wife remember.
Keep wife.
Maybe I need a different approach.
My jet is ready at 6:00 AM on Monday morning. Savannah arrives exactly on time, professional in a two-piece suit that does nothing to hide how beautiful she is.
“Mr. Volkov,” she says.
“Ledger,” I correct. “We’re married. You can use my first name.”
She doesn’t respond to that. She just climbs the stairs into the jet and takes a seat as far from me as possible.
My head of security, Pedro, does a final check before we take off. Two other guards are on the plane with us. I don’t go anywhere without security anymore, not since Viktor Kozlov.
Savannah watches them with wary eyes. “Is all this really necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have enemies. And now that you’re my wife, you’re a target.”
Her face goes pale. “I didn’t ask to be a target.”
“No. But you are.” I lean back in my seat.
She looks like she wants to argue, but instead pulls out her laptop and starts working.
The flight to Chicago takes about two hours. For the first hour, she ignores me completely. Types away on her laptop and drinks the coffee the flight attendant brings.
I watch her. Study the way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she shifts in her seat, like she can feel me looking.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up.
“I’m admiring.”
“It’s rude.”
“So is ignoring your husband for an entire flight.”
She finally looks at me. “What do you want me to say? This whole thing is insane.”
“I know.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
“Because you’re my wife. And I’m not letting you go.”
She shakes her head and goes back to her laptop. But I see the way her hands tremble slightly. The way her breathing has changed. She’s not as unaffected as she pretends.
“Tell me about Chicago,” I say.
“What about it?”
“What was your life like there?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I want to know you.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she closes her laptop. “My life in Chicago was fine until my mother got sick. Then it was hospitals and treatments and watching her die. After she was gone, I had nothing left there except a house full of memories and a boyfriend who cheated on me.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Are you?”
“I’m sorry because I know what it’s like to lose someone who matters.” I think about my own mother, dead since I was nineteen. “And I’m sorry because you deserved better than what that asshole gave you.”
Her expression softens slightly. “Thank you.”
We’re quiet for the rest of the flight.
Chicago is cold and gray when we land. The car takes us to the Peninsula Hotel, where I’ve booked the entire top floor.
“The entire floor?” Savannah asks as we ride the elevator up.
“Security.”
“Right. Because you have enemies.”
“Because we have enemies.”
She flinches at that.
Her room is across the hall from mine. Separate spaces but close enough that I can reach her if needed. The bodyguards take positions at either end of the hallway.
“This is excessive,” she mutters, and disappears into her room without another word.
The business meeting is at 2:00 PM. A hotel property on Michigan Avenue that’s been mismanaged but has good bones. Perfect for my portfolio.
Savannah is sharp during the meeting. Asks the right questions, takes detailed notes, and makes suggestions that actually improve my negotiating position.
The sellers are impressed. So am I.
Dinner is at 7:00 PM. I choose Gibson’s Bar & Steakhouse, a place I’ve been to a dozen times for business.
The lighting is dim, the booths are made of leather, and the steaks are among the best in the city.
Pedro and the other guard take a table near the entrance with clear sight lines to our booth.
Savannah orders the fillet. I get the rib eye. We discuss the meeting, the hotel property, and her analysis of the Chicago market. She’s animated when she talks about work, her hands moving as she explains demographic shifts and tourism patterns.
“The property needs a complete rebrand,” she’s saying. “The location is perfect, but the previous owners let it get dated. If you modernize the rooms and focus marketing on younger travelers, you could increase occupancy by at least thirty percent in the first year.”
“You sound confident about that.”
“I am confident. I know this city and what people want.” She takes a sip of her water. “This is what I’m good at.”
“I can see that.”
The meal is good. The conversation is better. For a few hours, I can almost pretend this is normal, that we’re a married couple having dinner in her hometown. That she remembers me.
But the way she holds herself, the careful distance she maintains even across a table, reminds me that we’re not there yet.
After we finish, I pay the check and help her with her coat. The restaurant is still busy, and the bar area is packed with people waiting for tables. We move through the crowd toward the exit, Pedro leading the way, the other guard at our backs.
My eye catches on a couple near the bar. The man is unremarkable, with brown hair and a weak jawline, wearing khakis and a polo shirt like he’s trying too hard to look put-together. The woman next to him is blonde, pretty in a forgettable way, laughing at something on her phone.
I know their faces from the background check. Mason Porter and Elizabeth Morris.
Savannah hasn’t noticed them yet. She’s focused on navigating through the crowd, one hand on my arm to keep from getting separated.
Then Lizzy looks up. Her eyes widen when she sees Savannah.
“Oh my God,” she says, loud enough to carry. “Savannah?”
Savannah stops, and her entire body goes rigid.
Mason turns, and his face is a mix of surprise and guilt.
They start moving toward us. Pedro shifts position, putting himself between them and Savannah before they can get within five feet. The other guard moves up beside him, creating a wall.
“Savannah, wait,” Mason says. “Can we talk?”
Savannah’s face is completely blank. She looks at them like they’re strangers she’s never met.
“No,” she says. Just that one word, flat and final.
“Please,” Lizzy tries, her voice shaking. “I miss you. We need to talk about what happened.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Savannah’s voice could freeze water. “We’re done. We’ve been done.”
Mason tries to step around Pedro, but my man doesn’t budge. He’s built like a wall, and Mason looks like a child next to him.
“Who the hell is this guy?” Mason asks, gesturing at me.
Savannah doesn’t answer but turns and walks toward the exit. I follow her, and my men fall in line behind us. I can hear Mason still calling her name, and Lizzy starting to cry, but we’re already pushing through the door into the Chicago cold.
Outside, Savannah presses her hands to her face. “I’m fine,” she says before I can ask. “I just need a minute.”
I give her space but stay close enough to catch her if she falls.
After a minute, she straightens up and drops her hands. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For the security and for keeping them away from me.”
“That’s what they’re here for.”
“I didn’t think I’d see them. I thought Chicago was big enough that I could avoid them.”
“Nothing is guaranteed in a city you used to call home. It’s my fault I brought you out here.”
“It’s not. I’d have to face them someday, anyway.” She sniffles and wraps her arms around herself. The temperature has dropped since we went inside, and her coat isn’t thick enough for standing on street corners.
“We should get back to the hotel,” I say.
“Yeah.”
The car pulls up, and we get in. The drive back is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. At the hotel, we walk to the elevator together, the guards trailing behind us.
When we reach our floor and stop at her door, she turns to me. “Thank you,” she says. “For today.”
“It’s been a long day,” I say. “Let’s call it a night.”
She nods and disappears into her room.