Chapter 6 - The King’s New KingdomSpring arrived in Chicago with a sudden burst of green along the lakefront, melting the last remnants of winter snow into sparkling puddles on the concrete.
The townhome in Lincoln Park was bathed in morning sunlight.
Through the tall French doors leading to the private back garden, cherry blossoms swayed gently in the breeze. Inside the spacious kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and toasted brioche filled the air.
At the center island, Roman Callaway—wearing a fitted gray cashmere sweater instead of his usual black corporate suit—stood holding a three-month-old infant who was currently trying to grab a silver fountain pen out of Roman’s shirt pocket.
“Don't eat the pen, Leo,” Roman instructed gravely, gently pulling the child’s tiny fingers away. “You have plenty of crayons for that.”
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood stairs.
Elena walked into the kitchen, wearing a simple cream-colored sundress, her dark hair falling loose over her shoulders. She looked rested, healthy, and entirely at peace.
She stopped, leaning against the edge of the island with a fond, amused smile as she watched the formidable mafia boss and billionaire real estate tycoon entertaining a baby with a blue plastic rattle.
“You’re spoiling him,” Elena teased, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“I’m teaching him corporate negotiation tactics early,” Roman replied deadpan. “He just successfully leveraged a rattle for a second piece of toast.”
Elena laughed, walking over and pressing a soft kiss to Roman’s cheek.
“Marcus is outside,” she said. “He’s waiting in the car for you. There’s a board meeting at Callaway Tower at nine.”
Roman sighed playfully, handing little Leo over to his mother’s practiced arms. The baby immediately snuggled against Elena’s chest, letting out a contented coo.
“Board meetings,” Roman muttered, adjusting his collar. “I’d rather negotiate with a pack of wolves.”
“You are the pack of wolves, Roman,” Elena reminded him with a knowing smile.
Roman reached out, pulling both of them close against his chest—holding the woman who had wandered into his stairwell four months ago and the child who had changed the entire architecture of his life.
“Not anymore,” Roman whispered against Elena’s hair. “I retired from the jungle.”
Ten minutes later, Roman walked out the front door of the Lincoln Park townhome and stepped into the back of his waiting black Maybach.
Marcus was in the front passenger seat, checking a tablet. He looked back over his shoulder as Roman settled into the leather upholstery.
“Morning, boss. Files for the waterfront acquisition are on your seat.”
Roman picked up the leather folder, but instead of opening it, he placed it down on the console beside him. He looked out the tinted window as the car pulled away from the curb, watching the tree-lined streets of Chicago roll by under a bright, cloudless spring sky.
He didn't think about debt collectors, hostile takeovers, or the cold concrete of the third-floor stairwell.
Those were chapters from an old book.
May you like
In the story he was writing now, the tower was no longer just a monument of stone and glass to intimidate his enemies.
It was home.
