Chapter 6 - The Awakening of the Past
The morning light that broke through the reinforced glass of the Lake Forest estate was cold and white, reflecting off the frosty surface of Lake Michigan just beyond the northern cliffs.
By Tuesday afternoon, the security perimeter was absolute. The grand, stone mansion—a property that had stood empty for seven years because Roman couldn't bear to live in its empty rooms alone—was now humming with a quiet, militaristic efficiency.
Inside the master bedroom on the second floor, Camila Rios slowly opened her eyes.
The first thing she smelled wasn't the grease of Rosie’s Grill or the damp plaster of her apartment. It was the scent of expensive white linen, lavender water, and that unmistakable, heavy sandalwood cologne that she had dreamed about every night for seven long years.
She tried to sit up, but a sharp, localized throb in her left temple made her groan, her hand instantly flying to the gauze bandage wrapped around her head.
"Don't move," a deep, raspy voice said from the shadows near the window.
Camila froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs as a tall, massive silhouette detached itself from the curtains and stepped into the morning light.
Roman.
He looked exactly the same, yet entirely different. The sharp, clean-cut lines of his jaw were covered in a dark stubble, his amber eyes bloodshot from forty-eight hours without sleep. He had changed into a simple black sweater and trousers, but the sheer size of him still filled the room with that terrifying, magnetic energy that had drawn her to him when she was just a twenty-year-old college student working his private catering events.
"Roman," she whispered, her voice cracking with a mixture of fear and an old, involuntary longing. "Where... where are my babies? Where are Luz and Valeria?"
"They're downstairs in the conservatory," Roman said, his voice level, devoid of anger but vibrating with an immense, suppressed emotion. "Jonah bought them a seven-foot dollhouse and three dozen stuffed animals. They're currently eating chocolate-chip pancakes made by a Michelin-starred chef."
Camila let out a ragged breath, her shoulders collapsing against the silk pillows. "You found us."
"They called me, Camila," Roman said, taking three slow, deliberate strides until he was standing at the foot of her bed, his large hands resting on the footboard. "Our daughter called me from a phone that had ninety-four dollars left on its prepaid account. She told me her mommy was bleeding on the floor."
Camila looked away, her eyes fixing on the crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. "I had to leave, Roman. You know why I left."
"I know why you thought you had to leave," Roman hissed, his composure finally cracking, his fingers digging into the expensive mahogany of the bedframe until the wood groaned. "You saw the car bomb on Michigan Avenue. You saw the blood on my coat after the Valenzuela business. You thought you were protecting them from my world."
"I was protecting them!" she screamed, wincing immediately as the sound vibrated through her injured skull. "Look at you, Roman! You're the most feared man in this city! Your enemies don't just kill you; they kill everything you've ever touched! If Gaitan or the Russians knew I had your children, they would have used them to make you crawl!"
"And instead, you raised my daughters in a cockroach-infested walk-up on the South Side?" Roman roared, his amber eyes flashing with a terrible, blinding fury. "You worked twelve-hour shifts at a greasy spoon while my children shared a single pillow under a blanket with holes in it? I have three hundred million dollars sitting in offshore trusts, Camila! I own twenty-four apartment buildings in this city that don't have leaks in the roof! And my blood was eating stale dinner rolls because of your pride?"
"It wasn't pride!" Camila sobbed, the tears finally breaking through her defenses, running down her pale cheeks onto the white linen sheets. "It was fear, Roman! I loved you so much it was turning me into a monster! I couldn't sleep. I couldn't breathe. Every time you walked out the door, I didn't know if I was going to see you again or see your body on the five o'clock news! I didn't want that for them!"
Roman stopped. The fury in his face didn't vanish, but it shifted, hollowed out by the raw, bleeding truth of her agony. He looked down at his own hands—the hands that had signed execution orders, the hands that had broken bones, the hands that were currently trembling at his sides because he didn't know how to fix the woman he loved.
Before he could speak, the heavy oak door of the bedroom pushed open.
Luz and Valeria stood in the frame, their faces smeared with maple syrup, their small hands holding a pair of matching silver forks. They looked at their mother’s crying face, then at the massive man standing at the edge of the bed.
"Mommy!" Valeria cried, dropping her fork as she sprinted across the room, climbing onto the high mattress to throw her arms around Camila’s neck.
Luz didn't run. She walked slowly, her amber eyes scanning the tension between her parents with that eerie, analytical intelligence she had inherited from her father. She stopped beside Roman, her small hand reaching out to touch his thumb.
"Are you guys fighting because of us?" she asked quietly.
May you like
Roman dropped to his knees in a single, fluid motion, pulling Luz into his side while his other hand reached out to cover Camila’s shaking fingers on the mattress.
"No, baby," Roman whispered, his voice steadying for the child’s sake as he looked up into Camila’s swollen eyes. "We're not fighting because of you. We're just learning how to be a family again."
