Chapter 6 - The Long Road NorthThe drive from Chicago to the rocky coast of Maine took twenty-four hours straight through rain, sleet, and changing landscapes.
Roman drove himself, refusing to let Marco take the wheel. For the first time in his adult life, he watched the miles tick away without worrying about rival hit squads, police roadblocks, or corporate hostile takeovers. The silence in the car was heavy, but for Roman, it was no longer suffocating—it was clarifying.
"You realize she’s going to slam the door in your face, right?" Marco muttered from the passenger seat, nursing a cup of stale gas station coffee.
"She might," Roman replied, keeping his eyes on the winding coastal highway as the Atlantic ocean appeared in the distance, grey and churning under a heavy morning fog.
"And if she calls the local sheriff and has us arrested?"
"Then I'll spend the night in a jail cell," Roman said simply. "It’s better than the penthouse."
They turned down a narrow, tree-lined gravel road that ended at a modest, weathered grey shingle house perched on a cliff overlooking the crashing waves. A single white sedan was parked in the driveway.
Roman parked the car, cut the engine, and sat in silence for a full minute, listening to the sound of the surf.
"Wait here," Roman instructed Marco, opening the door.
"Boss—"
"Wait here, Marco."
Roman walked up the wooden steps of the porch, the old boards creaking beneath his polished shoes. He didn't knock. He didn't need to. The front door was standing slightly ajar, letting in the sharp, salty smell of the ocean air.
He pushed the door open and stepped into a warm, sunlit kitchen filled with the scent of brewing coffee and baking bread.
Celeste stood by the counter, wearing an oversized knit sweater, pouring hot water into a ceramic mug. She looked up as the floorboards creaked.
May you like
She didn't look surprised. She didn't look angry.
She simply set the kettle down and looked at him.
