Chapter 17 - Return to Chicago
The Gulfstream G650 touched down on the private runway at O’Hare International Airport exactly at midnight, its tires screaming against the wet tarmac.
A heavy Chicago thunderstorm was raging across the city, lightning illuminating the jagged silhouette of the downtown skyscrapers in flashes of white.
A convoy of five armored Suburban SUVs sat waiting by the hangar, surrounded by twenty heavily armed Volkov loyalists wearing tactical vests.
Roman stepped down the aircraft stairs first, his left arm strapped tightly beneath his dark wool overcoat to conceal his injury from his men.
Sienna followed right behind him, wearing her old trench coat—the exact same one she had worn when she walked out of his penthouse eight months ago.
She did not look like a frightened civilian returning to a war zone; she walked with her head high, her eyes scanning the armed soldiers with calm familiarity.
Nikolai took the lead vehicle, gesturing for Roman and Sienna to climb into the center SUV where the glass was reinforced to withstand armor-piercing rounds.
The drive down the Kennedy Expressway was fast and silent, the convoy moving in a tight, protective diamond formation toward the Gold Coast.
When they pulled up to the underground entrance of the residential high-rise, the private garage was completely locked down by Roman’s personal guard.
They rode the private elevator up to the top floor, the mirrored walls reflecting the exhausted, battle-hardened faces of two people who had crossed hell to get back here.
The doors slid open directly into the foyer of the multi-million-dollar penthouse, where the familiar scent of cedarwood, leather, and rain hung in the air.
Everything was exactly as Sienna had left it—the modern art on the walls, the glass coffee table, and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the dark lake.
Roman walked into the center of the study, stopping by the desk where she had stood on that fateful October Tuesday.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out the antique silver key he had brought to her bookstore in Port Townsend two days ago.
He turned around, facing her with his shoulders squared, his eyes dark with an emotion that transcended pride, power, or syndicate rules.
“This is your home, Sienna,” Roman said softly, placing the silver key squarely into the center of her palm and closing her fingers over it.
“You don't need my passcode, you don't need my permission, and you never have to leave this room again unless it is by your own choice.”
Sienna looked down at the heavy key, feeling the cold metal warm against her skin as a slow, beautiful smile finally broke across her face.
May you like
She stepped into his chest, careful of his wounded left shoulder, wrapping her arms securely around his waist and resting her cheek against his heart.
“I’m home, Roman,” she whispered into his coat, the words settling over the penthouse like a benediction that banished the ghosts of the last eight months forever.
