Chapter 52
ROMAN
Two days later…
The television is muted, but I don’t need the sound.
CPD OFFICER ARRESTED IN MULTI-STATE CORRUPTION CASE
I watch the footage with relish. One of the officers in the hall of some low key motel a few states over ad his body cam on. Beige carpeting, bad lighting, cheap art on the walls. It’s the kind of place men like him hide out when they’re trying to outrun consequences.
There’s commotion, the camera shaky as guns are drawn when the officers burst into the room.
There, they encounter a shocked Max Russo, shirtless, a towel around his waist, fresh out of the shower where he’d just shaved his head and beard.
He’s shocked to see them. He throws his hands up immediately in surrender.
Within seconds, the officers have him pinned to the bed, cuffs on his wrists.
I grin.
A knock sounds at the door to my office at Barinov Holdings. I turn away from the TV. I’ve seen enough.
“Come in.”
Andrei enters, closing the door quietly behind him. His arm is in a sling, suit jacket draped over his shoulders, posture confident as ever.
I nod toward the sling. “How is it?”
He shrugs with his good shoulder. “Just some deep bruising. Pride took more damage than the shoulder. I can’t believe I let that prick get a shot off on me.”
I allow myself a small smile, then cross the room and clasp his good shoulder firmly, looking him square in the eye. “You saved my son. Again. Thank you.”
He holds my gaze. “And I would do it a third time. And a fourth.”
“I know.”
For a moment, neither of us speak. We don’t need to. Men like us don’t waste words on sentiment. But we recognize loyalty when it’s standing in front of us.
“You are taking a vacation. And that’s an order.”
He laughs, shakes his head. “That’d be a punishment. I’d die of boredom.”
“Go climb a mountain, then,” I reply with a small grin. “You’ve earned it. And more.”
He snorts in amusement. We’ll discuss the matter later. “Anyway,” he says. “They’re ready for you.”
“Then let us not waste another moment.”
The conference room windows stretch from the floor to the ceiling, the city sprawled out beneath us. It’s Chicago at midday, the city alive, indifferent. Around the table sit the remaining heads of the Chicago Bratvas.
One chair is conspicuously empty. I allow myself a small smile at Garin’s absence. It will be discussed.
The men rise as I enter and make my way to the head of the table. I nod. They sit. I remain standing.
“Gentlemen,” I begin. “We are here because one of us forgot the code.”
No one interrupts.
“And we are here because the Garin Bratva is officially over. The organization no longer exists.”
A ripple to passes through the room at my announcement. It’s not shock or grief or even fear. It’s calculation. They’re wondering what they can get out of all of this.
I go on. “His assets are unclaimed, as of now. You will decide for yourselves how to divide them. I trust this can be done without bloodshed.”
All eyes turn to me.
“But hear this,” I say, dropping my voice and raising a finger.
“I will reinforce the code. Any man who raises a hand against women or children, any man who uses them in the way he did, will meet the same end. I’ll be stepping away from this world, but I’ll be more than happy to return if a reminder of this rule is needed. ”
I let the silence hang, making sure they all get the message.
“The city does not need more monsters.”
One by one, they nod. Some seem visibly relieved knowing that I didn’t bring them here to threaten them—or worse. And I’m sure many are pleased to see Garin gone.
“Good. Then we’re finished.”
They stand up and prepare to leave. I step over to the windows and look out over the city.
My city.
There’s something different about it now. Something different about me.
And I’m only just beginning.
It’s warm outside.
I exit onto the steps in front of Barinov Holdings to a real, spring day. The sky is clear and blue, and the air is finally warm enough that I can slip out of my heavy coat.
Amalie is waiting for me with Sasha at her side. They both greet me with a warm smile.
My family.
Commotion is happening all around. Press vans line the curb. Boom mics hover. Security keeps a perimeter. Cameras flash as I approach the podium. Andrei stands a few steps behind me.
This is it. This is the moment when I put my old life behind me for good.
“Two months ago, I began the process of going public with Barinov Holdings. It hasn’t been without its ups and downs. There have been questions about our direction and whether or not this company was prepared for the future I have envisioned for it.”
I let my opening statements settle before going on.
“Those questions have been answered.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
“Following the uncovering of criminal interference into our IPO process that unfortunately affected our initial timeline, I am pleased to announce that Barinov Holdings has successfully finalized its IPO. The offering is complete, and the company will move forward as a transparent entity under Illinois law.”
Cameras flash nonstop.
“This framework provides long-term stability, not only for our investors and our employees,” I continue, “but also for the philanthropic initiatives Barinov Holdings supports—particularly programs designed to offer creative outreach and resources for the children of Chicago most in need of them.”
My gaze drops to Sasha for a moment. I can see his grip tighten on Amalie’s hand.
“As part of our commitment to the city, Barinov Holdings is partnering with the Art Institute of Chicago to establish a new children’s art initiative.”
A few heads lift.
“I am pleased to announce the creation of The Callahan Studio for Young Artists, a dedicated space for children to create, explore, and heal through art, regardless of background or circumstance.” I pause for just a beat.
“And I am more than pleased to introduce the project’s creative director, Amalie Denning. ”
There’s a shift in the crowd. Amalie smiles broadly. She’s ready. I know it.
“She brings not only professional skill and expertise, but heart. This project exists because she understands the healing power of art and how it can change lives. I trust her completely to lead it.”
I glance again in her direction. She looks like she’s about to grow wings and fly. Good. She deserves it and more.
Questioning hands begin to raise. I lift my own and say, “More information will be forthcoming. You will all be kept in the loop.”
A voice cuts through the crowd. “Amalie Denning will be in charge?” a young reporter asks. “Your former nanny?”
The word lands wrong. It’s diminishing. Careless.
“She is more than that,” I calmly reply. “She’s an accomplished artist. A wonderful teacher. She is the woman I love.”
The words hit like a gunshot. Amalie gasps, her eyes searching mine, questioning whether or not she heard me correctly. We’ve never said it out loud, though I have felt it—that’s for goddamn sure.
And now it’s in the open. In front of the entire city.
I step away from the podium and take Amalie’s hand. I can feel her shaking a little bit. Andrei, Sasha, Amalie, and I go back inside. Once we’re in the lobby, away from the chaos and noise, she looks up at me.
“Roman,” she whispers. “I love you, too.”
And just like that, a new day, a new life dawns.