Chapter 14 - Echoes on Lake Michigan
By late November, the first light dusting of snow had settled over Chicago, but this time, the cold carried no dread.
Celeste Armand had vanished into the federal witness protection program under an assigned identity somewhere in the rural Midwest. Her family’s fraudulent claims against Vascari Holdings were permanently dismissed with prejudice by a federal judge. The Santos syndicate, deprived of legal leverage and targeted by Roman's exhaustive financial disclosures, had abandoned their pursuit of Chicago interests entirely.
For the first time since Roman had inherited his father's empire at twenty-four, the slate was completely clean.
To celebrate, Roman didn't book an extravagant gala or invite the city’s political elite. Instead, on a crisp, sunlit Saturday afternoon, he rented a private vintage passenger cruiser to take just the three of us out onto the calm, sapphire waters of Lake Michigan before the winter freeze locked down the harbors.
Grace was bundled in a plush, bear-eared fleece suit, sitting in Roman's lap on the enclosed heated deck. She squealed in delight every time a seagull swooped past the panoramic windows, pointing her mittens at the magnificent skyline of glass and steel rising in the distance.
Roman had his arm wrapped securely around her, his face relaxed, the harsh lines around his eyes smoothed away by months of genuine peace.
I stood beside him, holding two cups of steaming hot apple cider, leaning my hip against his shoulder.
"Look over there, Grace," Roman pointed toward the coastline near Lincoln Park. "That’s where your mom and I had our first picnic. I wore an Italian suit and sat on an ant hill because I was too proud to admit I didn't know how to unpack a wicker basket."
I laughed, the sound warm and effortless. "You ruined a three-thousand-dollar pair of trousers just to prove you could be romantic."
"Best investment of my life," he said, turning his head to look at me, his gaze tender and steady.
He set Grace down safely on the padded bench between us, letting her play with a wooden puzzle box, and reached into his coat pocket.
My heart skipped a beat. "Roman, you already gave me my ring back."
"I know," he said softly, producing a slender silver key on a braided leather cord. He placed it in the palm of my hand.
I frowned slightly, looking at the intricate notches. "What is this?"
"Two months ago, I closed the sale on the suburban estate," he said.
I looked up, stunned. "The fortress? You sold it?"
"It had twelve-foot walls, security towers, and memories of a night where I almost destroyed everything I loved," Roman said quietly, wrapping his large hands over mine, enclosing the key. "You never loved that house, Savannah. You endured it because you thought it was what I needed to survive."
"Roman, where are we going to live?"
"Turn around," he whispered, gently turning my shoulders toward the shoreline of Evanston, where historic brick homes and grand oak trees met the sandy bluffs of the lake.
"I bought the old Henderson property on the bluffs," he explained, pointing toward a grand, sun-drenched Victorian home with wide wraparound porches, floor-to-ceiling bay windows, and an enormous garden sloping gently toward the water. "No stone fortresses. No concealed guard shacks. Just a white picket fence, a tire swing for Grace, and windows that let the sunrise in from every single room."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, blurring the golden shoreline.
May you like
"You really let it all go," I whispered.
"I didn't let anything go," Roman smiled, pulling me into his arms, kissing the curve of my neck as Grace babbled happily against our knees. "I just finally held onto the only things that ever mattered."
