Chapter 2 - ETHAN CALLAHAN
Somewhere high above the pitch-black fields of the Midwest, my thirty-six hours without sleep finally claimed me.
I hadn't intended to close my eyes. I had promised myself I would stay awake, maintain my guard, and take my daughter back as soon as she fell into a deep sleep. But the quiet hum of the jet engines, combined with the sudden release of agonizing tension, overwhelmed my nervous system.
When awareness slowly returned to me, it came in soft, disorienting stages.
My head was resting on something surprisingly warm and firm. My nose was filled with the scent of high-end cologne and subtle tobacco.
I blinked my eyes open, realizing with a jolt of shock that my cheek was pressed directly against the broad shoulder of the stranger beside me. My arm was resting across his lap.
I sat up instantly, my face burning with fresh embarrassment. “I... I am so sorry! I didn't mean to fall asleep on you—”
“It’s fine,” his low voice murmured in the dim cabin light.
I looked down at his arms. Sophie was still there, wrapped snugly in her pink fleece blanket, sleeping peacefully against his chest. One of his large, scarred fingers was resting gently in her tiny, closed fist. She was resting more soundly than she ever had in her crib back in East L.A.
Before I could process the surreal sight, three nervous flight attendants appeared in the narrow aisle beside our row.
Behind them stood two enormous, heavily built men wearing dark bespoke suits and subtle earpieces. They looked less like airline employees and more like military operatives.
The lead flight attendant stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly as she held a small electronic tablet.
“Mr. Callahan,” she said carefully, her voice laced with extreme deference and underlying panic. “Captain Miller wanted to inform you that we have initiated our descent into O'Hare. Your security detail in Chicago has been notified. They will meet you directly on the private tarmac as requested.”
My blood turned completely ice-cold.
Callahan.
The name echoed through my mind like a thunderclap.
Even living thousands of miles away in Los Angeles, I knew that name. Anyone who read national newspapers or watched the news knew the Callahan family.
Ethan Callahan.
He was the reputed head of Chicago’s most powerful, entrenched crime syndicate. Newspaper headlines spoke in hushed tones about his family's control over the docks, the labor unions, the nightlife venues, and half the municipal politicians in the state of Illinois. Federal prosecutors had spent a decade trying to pin charges on him, only for witnesses to vanish and cases to collapse into thin air.
He was the unchallenged King of Chicago.
And my six-month-old baby girl was currently asleep in his lap.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I reached out with trembling hands. “I’ll... I’ll take her now, please.”
Ethan turned his head slowly to look at me. His dark, impenetrable eyes held mine for a long moment. He didn't look like a ruthless mobster who controlled a billion-dollar empire. He looked calm, deliberate, and entirely unfazed by the sudden arrival of his guards.
He carefully transferred Sophie back into my arms, taking extra care not to wake her as I pulled her tight against my chest.
“Boss,” one of the large bodyguards in the aisle said softly, leaning down toward Ethan. “The vehicles are lined up at the hangar. Should we prepare the secondary motorcade for the hotel?”
Ethan stood up, his tall, commanding frame easily dominating the cramped cabin space. He smoothed down the front of his dark sweater and checked his stainless steel watch.
“Have the private jet fueled and ready on tarmac four,” Ethan ordered, his voice cold and commanding.
“Yes, boss,” the guard replied immediately, touching his earpiece to transmit the instruction.
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. “Jet?” I stammered, holding Sophie tighter. “Where are you going?”
Ethan looked directly down at me. Those dark, piercing eyes had terrified entire city councils and made hardened prosecutors quit their jobs.
May you like
But as he looked down at me and my sleepy baby, his expression softened into something strangely gentle—and terrifyingly possessive.
“She and the baby are coming with me,” Ethan said.
