Chapter 16
Yelena
Idid not want to be coming back to Chicago. The Bahamas still lived in my memory—it didn’t seem real that this morning I could have been there—in paradise—and now I was crashing back down to Earth.
Steel. Black water. Hard winter light caught on the river and made it look sharp enough to cut a hand.
Sal sat beside me in the dark cabin, one hand around mine. He had not tried to fill the silence. He knew better. The firebird notebook rested on my lap. I had written nothing in it during the flight.
I had stared at the first page instead.
I want a home with you.
The words looked reckless now. Like something a child who didn’t understand the world would say.
The city waited below with lawyers and armed men and my father’s statement calling me too damaged to own my own name.
Sal squeezed my hand once.
“We can turn around,” he said. “Just you and I? Get away from here. Leave it all behind.”
I looked at him. “And go where?”
“Anywhere. Nowhere.”
“That is a beautiful answer. It is also not an answer.”
“No. You’re right,” he said. “It isn’t.”
The Caruso townhouse stood on a quiet street behind a black iron gate and a row of bare trees. It looked like old money from the sidewalk. Brick. Tall windows. A dark green door with polished brass hardware.
It looked less romantic once the gate shut behind us.
Cameras tracked the driveway. Men in dark coats stood at the corners without pretending to be gardeners. The front hall had marble floors, antique mirrors, and a discreet metal detector built into the archway.
A prison could have expensive furniture.
I stopped just inside.
Sal watched me.
“Not the most comfortable place,” he said.
“No, but I understand why it exists. Why we have to be here.”
He took my coat from my shoulders. His fingers brushed the back of my neck.
“We can make it more comfortable? Change anything you want.”
“I cannot change the men with guns.”
“No,” he said quietly. “But you can tell me where you want the books. Your coloring pencils? Stuffies? That is a start.”
The kitchen was warmer than the rest of the house. Cream cabinets. Dark stone counters. A long wooden table scarred by use instead of styled to look old. Someone had filled the refrigerator. Fruit. Eggs. Bread. A ridiculous amount of cheese.
The blue bowl waited on the counter, wrapped in the paper from the island market.
I unwrapped it myself.
The white waves around the rim were uneven. One had a small chip of paint where the glaze had caught wrong. It was not expensive. It was not perfect.
It was mine.
I placed it beside the stove.
Sal stood behind me, close but not touching.
“Future kitchen,” he said.
“Right. But for now it’s in the temporary kitchen.”
“You can call it whatever makes you less likely to panic.”
I turned to face him. “That is irritatingly perceptive.”
He kissed my forehead.
Upstairs, a study had been prepared for me. My legal files sat in neat stacks on one end of the desk. The firebird notebook sat beside them.
The sight of it hit harder than it should have.
A notebook about wants.
A folder about proving I was mentally competent enough to own the companies my mother had built.
I sat down.
Angela appeared on the secure screen a few minutes later. Pietro stood behind her with one hand resting on the back of her chair. Serafina sat beside them, dark hair pulled back, expression already sharpened for war.
“The court appointed an independent examiner,” Angela said. “She will assess whether you understand the injunction, your corporate authority, and the circumstances of your departure from Gianni.”
“This is all such bullshit. They try to force me to marry, threaten to drug me. Then when I’m safe, they pull this legal crap.”
“It is bullshit, you’re right. We won’t take it lying down. I’ve had just about enough with Gianni.”
“Where do I meet this examiner?”
“Neutral downtown legal suite. We receive the address two hours before the appointment. Gianni’s counsel receives it at the same time.”
“Who chose her?”
“The court,” Angela said. “Technically.”
“Technically is doing a lot of work there.”
“Yeah, that’s usually the case.”
Serafina leaned forward. “The examiner cannot order you to return to Gianni. She cannot remove your companies today. But a bad report gives him leverage.”
“And if I refuse?”
Angela’s face went grim.
“Then he says Sal kept you from independent review. He says you are isolated. He says his claims are justified.”
I looked toward the open doorway.
Sal stood there. He had changed into a dark suit. No tie. His face had gone still in the way that meant he was furious and refusing to use it as a weapon.
“I’m going,” I said. “I need to do it.”
“No,” he said.
The screen went silent.
I stood slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Little one.”
“I did. I am deciding whether to be insulted or impressed by the audacity.”
“It is not safe.”
“Of course it’s not safe. Nothing is safe in this city. With these men.”
“Yelena.”
The use of my full name made my spine stiffen.
“You do not get to decide that I cannot speak for myself because Gianni might use the room against us.”
His jaw flexed.
“I know.”
“Then do not say no like you are my father.”
The words landed. I hated them as soon as they left my mouth.
Sal’s face did not close.
He came into the room and stopped an arm’s length away, leaving the choice visible between us.
“I am not your father,” he said. “And I will never be.”
My throat tightened.
“But I am allowed to be afraid,” he continued. “I am allowed to hate sending you into a room designed to make you defend being loved. I am allowed to protect you.”
I looked down at the firebird notebook.
“I have to go,” I whispered. “If I don’t, he gets to call me a frightened little girl who cannot make a choice without a man beside her.”
Sal waited. Then he nodded once.
“Fine. You go,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes. I don’t own you. You are your own woman.”
“Thank you for being understanding.”
He nodded.
“Of course, I will be outside the room.”
“Not in it.”
“No. Not in it.”
I met his eyes.
“You promise you will not answer for me?”
“I promise.”
That night, Kiryl called from the ranch.
Tonio’s kitchen showed behind him. Bright lights. Too many pots. A guard crossed the background carrying a tray of something that steamed.
After we exchanged greetings, Kiryl said something that surprised me. “You’re scared about tomorrow.”
“No, not scared.”
“Lena, don’t lie.”
I sighed.
“Fine. Yes, I’m scared. I feel like we’re close to being free, but the last step is so difficult. I don’t want to have to justify myself to this person. It’s going to be tough.”
His expression softened.
“Of course, sis. But that’s how you know it’s worth doing. We can do easy things all day long. It’s the hard ones that matter.”
“Ok, when did you grow up?”
“I’ll see you at breakfast the next morning,” he said, laughing. “You can tell me how badly you frightened the examiner.”
“I do not frighten people.”
He stared.
“Fine,” I said. “I frighten people who deserve it.”
“That’s my sister. Attagirl”
Sal stepped into view behind me. He rested his hand at the back of my chair.
“Kiryl,” he said. “You will move tomorrow under Tonio and Pietro’s protection. You stay with people you know. Soon we’re going to move against Gianni.”
Kiryl nodded.
“And Lena?” he asked.
Sal’s hand tightened slightly against the chair.
“I remain with her.”
I reached behind me and found his hand.
The blue bowl waited downstairs in the kitchen.
My notebook waited beside the files.
And for one night, in a guarded house in a city full of enemies, I let myself believe those things belonged together.
*
Pietro arrived before dawn with blood on his cuff.
Not much. A dark line near the wrist.
I was in the study with coffee going untouched beside my files. Sal stood at the window, phone in hand. He turned when Pietro entered.
“The driver talked,” Pietro said.
Sal’s face did not change. “What happened?”
Pietro looked at me first.
I hated that. I hated the small pause people made when deciding whether I was strong enough to hear the truth of the world.
“Tell me,” I said.
“They took his daughter,” Pietro said. “Gianni’s men. They held her overnight. Beat the driver. Told him they would send pieces of her home if he did not cooperate.”
My stomach clenched.
“He put a tracker in Kiryl’s overnight bag,” Pietro continued. “Sewed it into the lining.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Recovered. Alive. Scared. No serious injuries.”
The word alive left my lungs in a slow breath.
“And the tracker?”
“Exactly where he said it was.”
Sal held out his hand. Pietro placed a small black square in his palm. It looked harmless. Cheap plastic. A child’s broken toy.
It had been meant to lead men to my brother.
“That is why he missed the check-in,” I said.
Pietro nodded.
“He had to place it. He panicked afterward. They hurt him enough that the story held.”
Angela came in behind him, hair still damp from a shower, laptop open against her chest.
“The tracker was transmitting intermittently,” she said. “Low power. It would have remained quiet until the next transfer.”
Sal’s expression hardened.
“Replace everything,” he said. “Every bag. Every garment. Every device. Sweep every vehicle twice.”
“Already underway,” Pietro said.
“Three decoy convoys.”
“Prepared.”
“The real route is selected minutes before departure.”
Pietro nodded again.
“Tonio is with Kiryl,” he said. “I’ll lead the transfer.”
“No,” Sal said. “You lead the transfer. Tonio stays in the armored vehicle with Kiryl.”
Pietro looked like he wanted to argue. Then he understood. A brother’s presence mattered differently than a commander’s.
“Fine,” he said.
The room moved around the plan. Phones. Routes. Drivers. Names I did not know, but trusted because Sal did.
I stood near the desk with the tracker in my sight. Something about it made my skin itch.
“Don’t you think it was too easy?” I said.
Everyone stopped.
Pietro looked at me. “What was?”
“The discovery.”
Angela’s fingers paused over her keyboard.