Chapter 5 - Dawn at O'Hare
The Bombardier touched down smoothly on the wet asphalt of O'Hare International Airport just as the first bruised streaks of dawn were bleeding across the Chicago skyline.
The private hangar was waiting, flanked by three black Escalades idling in the gray morning mist.
As the aircraft door opened, letting in the biting, metallic chill of a midwestern winter morning, Silas stood up, carrying a sleeping Leo in his arms. The boy’s head rested heavily on his father’s shoulder, his little red fingers clutching the collar of Silas’s wool coat.
Silas walked down the aisle toward the exit, stopping by the forward galley where Khloe was packing away the service tray.
“Ms. Gallagher,” Silas said, his voice low and rich with a new kind of gravity.
Khloe turned, dipping her head slightly. “Mr. Costello. Welcome to Chicago.”
Silas reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, embossed business card made of thick matte black stock. There was no company name on it—just a single direct phone number and a string of initials.
“If you ever get tired of flying for people who only care about the service,” Silas said, placing the card gently on the counter beside her hand, “my family needs someone who knows how to listen. In every language.”
Khloe looked down at the card, then up at the formidable mob boss. She didn't shrink away; she simply met his gaze with steady professionalism.
“I’m a flight attendant, Mr. Costello,” Khloe said quietly. “I get people safely to where they’re going.”
A faint, rare ghost of a smile touched the corners of Silas’s mouth.
May you like
“So do I,” he replied softly.
He turned and descended the stairs into the cold Chicago rain, his son cradled securely in his arms, stepping into a world that was finally learning how to listen.
