His Pregnant Wife Saw Him Holding Another Woman on Christmas Eve, and by Sunrise the Most Feared Man in Chicago Was Begging Everyone to Find Her 2

The next morning broke gray and threatening, rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the sunroom. Roman left for the Federal Plaza at eight o'clock, escorted by Dante and two tactical chase cars.

Before he walked out, he cupped my jaw with both hands, his thumbs tracing the line of my cheekbones. "Marcus is inside the gatehouse. Nobody comes past the iron fence without my personal clearance. I'll be home before two."

"Go put an end to it, Roman," I told him, adjusting his tie. "We’ll be waiting."

By midday, the rain had turned into a steady, dreary downpour. Grace was down for her afternoon nap, her small chest rising and falling rhythmically in the crib. Sophia was humming softly in the laundry room down the hall, folding fresh linens.

The house was tranquil—almost hypnotic in its quiet rhythm.

Then, the security intercom beside the pantry chimed.

I walked over and pressed the button. "Yes, Marcus?"

There was a brief pause, filled with crackling static. "Mrs. Vascari... you have a visitor at the gate. She didn't request clearance through dispatch. She walked up on foot from a taxi on the service road."

My heart gave a heavy, deliberate thud. "Who is it?"

"Celeste Armand. She says if you don't speak to her for five minutes, she will hold an impromptu press conference at the end of the driveway with two local news vans she claims are standing by."

I looked at the monitor displaying the service gate. Standing in the pouring rain, clad in a sleek black trench coat and large designer sunglasses, was Celeste. She looked thinner than she had the winter before, her posture defensive, clutching a leather handbag to her chest like a shield.

"Mrs. Vascari?" Marcus asked, his tone urgent. "I can have the county sheriff remove her for criminal trespass within six minutes."

"No," I said, my voice surprising me with its absolute calm. "Have two guards escort her up the drive. Search her at the front portico. Bring her into the formal sitting room. Don't let her near the stairs."

"Ma'am, Mr. Vascari gave explicit orders—"

"Mr. Vascari is at Federal Plaza," I cut in evenly. "This is my home. Let her in."

Five minutes later, I walked down the curved staircase. Celeste was standing in the center of the formal parlor, dripping rainwater onto the hardwood floor despite the umbrella the security detail had provided. When she took off her sunglasses, the carefully manicured facade she had worn for years was gone. Her eyes were hollow, lined with dark circles, her skin drawn tight over prominent cheekbones.

Two armed guards stood silently by the parlor doors.

"You look well, Savannah," Celeste said, her voice attempting an airy nonchalance that fell completely flat. "Motherhood clearly suits you."

"You have four minutes, Celeste," I said, remaining standing near the mahogany sideboard, refusing to offer her a seat. "Tell me why you're standing in my house instead of running from the federal marshals."

Celeste's forced smile evaporated. She took a step toward me, but stopped when the guard to her right shifted his weight.

"Roman is giving them the ledgers," she whispered, her voice cracking with suppressed desperation. "If he hands over those files, the syndicate will know I set them up. They won't just ruin me financially, Savannah. They will kill me."

"Then you shouldn't have forged Roman's father's name on an eighty-million-dollar collateral note," I replied coldly. "You brought this entirely on yourself."

"He was supposed to marry me!" Celeste suddenly flared, her eyes blazing with irrational fury. "Before you came along, it was understood between our families. My father and his father built this city's supply lines together! You were nobody—a preschool teacher from Lincoln Park with no connections, no pedigree, no stomach for what it takes to live in this world!"

I didn't flinch. I didn't raise my voice. I looked at her with pure, unvarnished pity.

"And look where that world got you," I said softly. "Broke, terrified, begging the wife of the man who rejected you to save your life."

Celeste stared at me, trembling from head to toe, the crushing truth of my words stripping away her remaining pride.

"I need five million," she choked out, tears finally breaking through her eyeliner. "Just five million to get across the border to Paraguay. Tell Roman to hold the federal filing for twenty-four hours. Just twenty-four hours to disappear."

"No," I said firmly.