Chapter 3 - The South Loop SafehouseThe jet touched down on a private airstrip tucked away in an industrial sector of the city. A convoy of three armored Cadillac Escalades swallowed us up the moment we stepped off the metal stairs.
Thirty minutes later, the convoy rolled through massive iron security gates into the courtyard of an expansive, heavily fortified estate in the South Loop. Surrounded by towering brick walls, security cameras, and manicured gardens, the property looked like an impenetrable fortress disguised as a historical landmark.
When we stepped inside the grand foyer, a silver-haired, impeccably dressed woman in her late fifties hurried forward.
“Mr. Callahan, thank God you’re back. The precinct commissioner called twice—,” she started, before stopping dead in her tracks as her eyes landed on me and the baby in my arms.
“Mrs. Gable,” Ethan interrupted smoothly, handing his coat to a waiting guard. “Meet Rachel and Sophie. They’ll be staying in the master east wing. Clear out the third-floor nursery, and have Dr. Vance come over immediately.”
Mrs. Gable’s eyes widened slightly with surprise, but decades of working for the Callahan family had trained her to hide her shock. She offered me a warm, deeply comforting smile.
“Welcome to the house, dear. Let me take that diaper bag. You must be exhausted.”
Before I could protest, Mrs. Gable gently guided me toward a stunning, sun-drenched suite overlooking a private courtyard. The room was larger than my entire apartment back in East L.A., filled with plush white couches, a king-sized canopy bed, and a fully stocked nursery complete with a crib, a rocking chair, and shelves of brand-new toys.
“Ethan... Mr. Callahan, I can't stay in the master wing,” I protested, looking around the palatial space as Mrs. Gable gently settled Sophie into a bassinet.
“You’ll stay wherever is safest, Ms. Morales,” a deep voice echoed from the doorway.
Ethan leaned against the doorframe, having changed into a dark gray cashmere sweater that made his broad shoulders look even more formidable.
“Dr. Vance is downstairs checking your blood pressure records from the flight,” Ethan said. “After that, you’re going to sleep for eight hours straight. Mrs. Gable will watch Sophie.”
“I can watch my own daughter—”
“You can barely keep your eyes open, Rachel,” Ethan countered gently, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. He stopped just a few feet away from me. The proximity was intoxicating—he smelled of cedar, rain, and expensive leather. “Trust me for once. You’ve been fighting the world alone for too long. Let someone else take the watch for a day.”
Something in his voice—a quiet, fractured vulnerability hidden beneath the armor of the King of Chicago—disarmed every defense I had left.
I didn't argue. I let Mrs. Gable lead me to the adjoining bathroom, where a steaming, lavender-scented bath had already been drawn.
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When I finally sank into the warm water, letting the tension melt out of my bruised muscles and aching spine, I realized something terrifying:
I was safer here, wrapped in the protection of a dangerous mafia boss, than I had ever been in my entire life.
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