Chapter 26 #2
“With the devil himself,” Harrison adds, but there’s less venom in his tone now, more resignation.
I turn to leave, but his voice stops me at the door.
“Lea.” When I look back, his expression is solemn. “Be careful. The world you’re stepping into... it changes people. Usually not for the better.”
“I know,” I reply softly. “But sometimes change is necessary.”
With that, I walk out of Harrison Wells’s office for the last time, closing the door on my brief career as an investigative journalist. The newsroom noise swells around me as I make my way between the desks, avoiding eye contact with curious colleagues.
I feel oddly light, as if I’ve set down a heavy burden I didn’t realize I was carrying.
Sienna is waiting by the exit, exactly as promised. Her sharp eyes take in my expression.
“That bad, huh?”
“Could have been worse,” I admit. “No shouting, no throwing things.”
“Just crushing disappointment and dire warnings about your future?”
I laugh despite myself. “Something like that.”
Sienna hooks her arm through mine. “Come on. You owe me at least three drinks and the unabridged version of whatever the hell has been happening with you.”
“Make it four drinks,” I counter. “This story requires alcohol. Lots of it.”
The bar Sienna chooses is a journalist hangout two blocks from the office—dark wood, sticky tables, and drinks strong enough to make you forget the day. We claim a booth in the back corner.
“Spill,” Sienna demands the moment our drinks arrive.
“And leave nothing out. I’ve read the official reports.
I know your mother and Isabel Vega were arrested in a bust. I know Moretti is officially ‘missing and presumed dead.’ But the reports don’t say how you ended up in the middle of it all.
And what was with that cryptic text you sent me?
The ‘blink twice if you’re in trouble’ thing? Some dark joke about your deadline?”
I stare at her, the memory of that moment—hunched in a bathroom, outsmarting a camera, sending a desperate, last-ditch plea for help—coming back in a rush. “Sienna... I wasn’t joking. I was held captive.”
The humor vanishes from her face, replaced by dawning horror. “Oh my god. You were serious? I just figured it was, like, ‘blink twice if he won’t let you choose the restaurant.’ Lea, I’m so sorry! I had no idea.”
I manage a small, wry laugh. It feels strange, laughing about it now. “It’s okay. In retrospect, it was a pretty terrible plan.” I take a long sip of my whiskey sour. “The real story is... more complicated.”
And I tell her the parts the world will never know.
Not the public facts, but the personal truths—my mother’s betrayal, her murder of my father, and her manipulation of my entire life.
I tell her about being caught between them all, about the final, terrible confrontation in the art gallery.
I omit certain details—the violence I took part in, the darker edges of my relationship with Nico—but I give her enough to understand.
Throughout my account, Sienna just stares, her drink forgotten in her hand. By the time I finish, the light outside has faded, and we’re on our third round.
“Jesus Christ, Lea,” she breathes when I finally fall silent. “Your mother? A North Korean spy? And she killed your dad?” She shakes her head. “It’s like something out of a movie.”
“I know. I still have moments where I can’t believe it’s real.”
“And Varela? He knew all this?”
“He suspected she was involved in something,” I nod. “He was using me to get to her.”
Sienna leans back, studying me. “And now you’re in love with him? After everything?”
“It’s complicated,” I admit. “What started as manipulation became... something else. For both of us.”
“And you trust him? After he lied to you, watched you, and essentially held you captive?”
I consider the question. “I trust he loves me,” I say finally. “That he will protect me. Do I trust that he’ll suddenly become a model citizen? No, but I understand him now. And he understands me.”
Sienna shakes her head again, trying to process it all. “And this?” She gestures at my ring. “This is real? Not some strategic move?”
I smile. “This is very real.”
“Let me see it,” she demands, grabbing my hand. “Holy shit, Lea. This must be worth a fortune.”
“It was his grandmother’s,” I say.
Sienna whistles. “A family heirloom. So this isn’t just serious—it’s dynasty-level serious.”
“We’re getting married in the spring,” I confirm. “At the lake house.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re planning a wedding already?”
“Small ceremony. Just a few people.” I take a breath. “Including my maid of honor, if she’s willing.”
For a moment, Sienna just stares at me. Then her eyes fill with unexpected tears. “Me? You want me to be your maid of honor?”
“Who else would I ask?” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “You’re my only friend. You were there from the beginning. You tried to warn me.”
“A lot of good that did,” she says with a watery laugh. “You’re engaged to the very man I warned you about.”
“Life is full of surprises,” I agree. “So? Will you do it?”
Sienna wipes at her eyes. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I get to bring my camera and document the whole thing. Not for publication,” she adds quickly. “Just for you.”
“You want to photograph a mob wedding?” I can’t help but laugh.
“Are you kidding?” She grins. “The mysterious Nicolás Varela marrying the brilliant Lea Song at a secluded lake house? It’s the visual story of a lifetime. Besides, someone needs to make sure there’s evidence of your happiness.”
The insight catches me off guard. There will be moments of doubt. Having a reminder of the joy, the certainty I feel now—it might be exactly what I need.
“Deal,” I say, raising my glass.
Sienna clinks hers against mine. “To new beginnings. And to you, Lea Song, soon-to-be queen of Chicago’s most dangerous man.”
I laugh, the sound a mix of genuine amusement and disbelief.
“Queen,” I echo, the word feeling foreign and oversized on my tongue.
A year ago, my biggest ambition was a front-page byline.
Now... this. Instead of pride, a sense of profound gravity settles over me.
It’s not a title I feel I’ve earned, but a role I’m choosing to step into.
The power I feel isn’t about ruling a city, but about standing beside Nico as his equal.
“I think ‘partner’ is more my speed for now,” I say with a small smile. “But I’ll work on the queen part.”
As Sienna launches into wedding planning, her shock giving way to practical considerations, a sense of contentment settles over me. This is the bridge between my old life and my new one—sitting in a bar with my best friend, planning a wedding to a man who terrifies half the city.
My father once told me that the best journalists find the story where it lives.
He could never have imagined how unexpected my journey would be, or that the story I set out to write would ultimately rewrite me.
But as I sit here, twisting my engagement ring, I know with a bone-deep certainty that this is where I’m meant to be.
I will walk this path with my eyes open, my head high, and my hand firmly clasped in Nico’s.
The Journalist and The Diplomat. An unlikely pairing, perhaps. But the best stories always are.