Chapter 10 - The Feast of the Faithful
Three months later, the spring thaw had arrived in northern Illinois.
The gardens of Kane Manor were alive with crocuses, daffodils, and blooming lilacs. The heavy lake winds were replaced by warm, gentle breezes carrying the scent of damp earth and budding oak trees.
On the wide stone terrace overlooking the rolling green lawns, a long wooden table had been set for dinner.
There were no armed security teams standing guard at the perimeter. Walter Price had reorganized the family protection wing, replacing the mercenaries with vetted, loyal men who took their meals in the hall and treated the estate with genuine respect. Walter sat at the head of the terrace table, his cane leaning against an empty chair, engaged in a heated debate with Arthur over the Chicago Cubs' opening week lineup.
Further down the table, Margaret Cole was laughing as Chef Luca—the Michelin-starred culinary director Roman had retained—insisted on pouring her another glass of Pinot Noir while asking for her secret beef stew spice ratio.
"I’ll give you the rosemary proportion, Luca," Margaret said with a wink, "but the bay leaves are staying with me until Christmas."
Helen Brooks sat beside Lily, admiring a photograph of Lily’s grandmother that now occupied a place of honor in the library mantelpiece.
Roman Kane stood at the stone balustrade, a glass of bourbon in his hand, looking out over the blue waters of Lake Michigan. He wore a crisp white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the dark tattoos on his forearms catching the late afternoon sunlight. The hard, predatory tension that had defined his face for a decade had softened into something calm, focused, and deeply rooted.
A light step sounded on the stone flags behind him.
Lily walked over, leaning against the balustrade beside him. She wore a simple pale green sundress, her dark hair catching the golden glow of the setting sun.
"Walter tells me the Portuguese authorities confirmed Marcus settled into his villa outside Sintra," Lily said softly. "No complaints, no attempts to reach Chicago."
"Marcus knows better," Roman replied, taking a sip of his bourbon. "And the ship to Santos docked six weeks ago. Elizabeth is living under her new name. She works in a textile archive three days a week to keep busy. She has shelter, food, and absolute silence."
Lily looked at him, her eyes searching his profile. "Do you ever regret not ending it the way your world usually does?"
Roman shook his head slowly.
"My mother thought power came from fear and isolation," Roman said, turning his head to look at the terrace table where Arthur was currently roaring with laughter at one of Margaret’s jokes. "She thought if you cut away everyone who loved you, no one could hurt you. But all she built was a tomb full of pig iron."
He reached out and took Lily’s hand. Her fingers were warm, steady, and unhesitating as they laced through his.
"For six nights, you carried food across Chicago in the freezing rain because an old man was too proud to ask for charity," Roman said softly. "You risked everything to feed people who had no power left to give you anything in return."
"They gave me everything," Lily replied, looking directly into his gray eyes. "They gave me a family when I thought I was all alone."
"So did you," Roman said.
From the table, Arthur clinked his silver spoon against his wine glass. The clear, ringing sound cut through the terrace chatter.
The old driver rose to his feet, holding his glass high against the pink-and-gold sunset.
"To Julian," Arthur said, his voice ringing with pride and peace. "And to the boy who brought the family home."
Every glass at the table rose in unison.
"To Roman," they called out together.
Roman smiled—a real, unshadowed smile that reached his eyes for the first time in his life—and raised his glass back to the table.
May you like
The midnight bags were gone. The motel room eighteen was a fading memory. The ghosts of LaSalle Street and Graceland had finally been laid to rest.
In their place stood a house that could never be broken again—because its foundation was no longer built on fear, but on an unbroken promise kept in the dark.
