Chapter 4 - The Tarmac at Midway
At 1:15 a.m., a dense autumn fog rolled across the private aviation apron at Midway International Airport.
Parked beside Hangar 4 was a sleek Bombardier Global 6000, its jet turbines whining softly in idle, the cabin lights casting warm amber rectangles onto the wet asphalt.
Inside the heated passenger cabin, ten-year-old Noah sat buckled into a plush cream leather captain’s chair, holding his favorite sketchpad on his lap, sipping hot chocolate from a porcelain mug. Beside him sat Tessa, my lifelong confidante, reviewing our departure manifests on an encrypted tablet.
"Are we really leaving, Claire?" Noah asked, looking up as I climbed the air stairs wearing a tailored dark wool trench coat over my scarlet dress, my hair secured in a clean ponytail.
I knelt beside my brother's seat, gently pushing a stray brown curl from his forehead, my heart expanding with a fierce, absolute protectiveness.
"We are leaving forever, Noah," I said softly, kissing his cheek. "No more bodyguards at your school. No more closed doors. No more fear."
Noah let out a long, quiet sigh, leaning his head against the headrest, his small shoulders dropping the tension he had carried since our father died.
The cabin door was about to be pulled shut by the flight attendant when the screech of high-performance tires tore through the hangar apron.
Three black Cadillac Escalades bearing the gold signet crest of the Russo family slid across the wet tarmac, boxing in the aircraft’s tug vehicle.
The driver’s door of the lead SUV was kicked open with violent force.
Dominic stepped out into the rain.
He had not put on a coat. His white shirt was soaked through, clinging to his broad chest and muscular arms, his dark hair plastered against his forehead. He did not draw a weapon. He raised both hands, palms open and visible, walking alone toward the base of the air stairs while eight airport tactical officers trained their red laser sights directly onto his chest.
"Hold your fire!" I commanded the security guards through the open door.
I stepped onto the top platform of the air stairs, looking down at the man who had ruled my life for two hundred and forty days.
Dominic stopped at the bottom riser, looking up through the driving rain, his slate-gray eyes raw, bloodshot, and burning with an agonizing, unmasked desperation.
"Claire," Dominic shouted over the roar of the jet engines. "Don't get on that plane."
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't, Dominic," I said, my voice carrying cleanly across the wet concrete. "You told me you didn't want me. You told me I was nothing more than a transaction."
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Dominic took one slow, deliberate step up the metal stairs.
"I lied to you, Claire," Dominic said, each word ripping from his throat like torn flesh. "I lied to you because my father’s old captains were watching every breath you took in that house. I made you sleep alone, I kept the lamps dim, and I treated you like a stranger because the moment they realized you were my heart, they would have used you to bleed me dry."
