Chapter 3

My parents had never tried to control my love life.

Even after discovering that Leo Sullivan was the eldest son of one of Chicago's most powerful Mafia bosses, they'd respected my decision.

They'd warned me about the dangers of becoming involved with a crime family, but they'd never forbidden me from seeing him.

As long as I was happy, they'd told me, they would support me.

And now, after four years of defending Leo, I'd made a complete fool of myself.

The moment my father heard what had happened, his face turned scarlet.

He slammed his palm against the desk so hard that the coffee cups rattled.

"That son of a bitch!"

His voice echoed through the police station.

"He left my daughter on the side of an interstate in the middle of winter? Over seventeen thousand fucking dollars?"

"Dad..."

"Don't you 'Dad' me, Nora!"

He was already reaching for his car keys.

"I don't give a damn if his father runs half the Chicago underworld! You think being a Sullivan gives him the right to treat my daughter like garbage?"

His jaw clenched.

"I'll drag that little bastard out of his family's mansion myself. I'll make sure he doesn't enjoy a single peaceful minute of this holiday!"

He turned toward the door.

"I swear to God, I'll kill him!"

My mother caught his arm before he could take another step.

"Richard Henson! Where exactly do you think you're going?"

"Where do you think?"

He pointed toward the parking lot.

"I'm going to teach Leo Sullivan what happens when he messes with my family!"

My mother tightened her grip.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

My father stared at her in disbelief.

"You're stopping me? Margaret, that's our daughter! We raised her like a princess, and some spoiled Mafia brat thinks he can throw her away like trash!"

His voice shook with anger.

"You're telling me we're just supposed to swallow that?"

My mother glanced at the officers nearby, then lowered her voice.

"Richard, use your head."

"What?"

"There are three of us."

She held up three fingers.

"Three. And you're planning to storm the Sullivan estate, where there are armed guards at every gate and God knows how many soldiers inside?"

My father opened his mouth.

She didn't let him speak.

"We're not walking into their territory outnumbered and unprepared."

Her eyes narrowed.

"We go home first. We call your brothers, my cousins, every uncle and family friend who still owes us a favor. We make sure the entire Henson family knows exactly what Leo did."

She paused.

"Then, when we're ready, we settle this properly."

My father blinked.

For several seconds, he simply stared at her.

Then the anger on his face slowly gave way to admiration.

"Margaret..."

He took her hand.

"That's why I married you."

My mother rolled her eyes.

"Someone in this marriage has to think before starting a war."

Despite everything, I almost laughed.

My parents had been married for more than thirty years.

My father had built his fortune through legitimate shipping and logistics businesses, while my mother came from a family with old connections throughout Chicago's business community.

They weren't Mafia royalty like the Sullivans.

But the Hensons weren't powerless either.

My grandfather had once controlled several major freight routes across Illinois, and even after retiring, he still had friends in places most people couldn't reach.

Our family believed in sticking together.

And apparently, Leo had just given them a reason to do exactly that.

We left the police station together.

My father drove, still muttering curses under his breath.

My mother sat beside him, already making phone calls.

By the time we reached the Henson residence, half the family knew what had happened.

Within an hour, the house was full.

Uncles, aunts, cousins, and older relatives gathered in the living room while my father recounted everything.

He didn't leave out a single detail.

The seventeen-thousand-dollar demand.

Leo's ridiculous excuse about testing my generosity.

The way he'd abandoned me at the rest stop.

The stolen Mercedes.

And his arrogance when the state police contacted him.

Every new detail made the room angrier.

"He did what?"

"That little bastard!"

"Does he think the Hensons are some family he can push around?"

"Seventeen thousand dollars for a teenage girl's birthday? Why doesn't his rich father pay for it?"

One of my uncles slammed his whiskey glass onto the table.

"I've dealt with Sullivan men before. They think everyone in Chicago should bow when they walk into a room."

Another cousin snorted.

"Someone ought to remind them they don't own the whole damn state."

By nine that evening, even my grandparents had arrived.

Burton Henson was eighty years old, but retirement hadn't softened him.

He'd spent decades running the family shipping business and still carried himself like a man accustomed to giving orders.

My grandmother, Scarlett Henson, was no less formidable.

She might have looked like a sweet old lady with her silver hair and pearl earrings, but anyone who knew her understood that she had a temper sharp enough to cut steel.

The moment Grandpa Burton heard the story, he slammed his cane against the floor.

"That Sullivan brat thinks he can bully a Henson girl?"

His face darkened.

"Does he have a death wish?"

"Exactly!"

Grandma Scarlett was already reaching for her coat.

"Richard, get the car. We're going to that mansion right now."

"Mom," my father said, immediately standing.

"I'll drive."

My mother pressed a hand to her forehead.

"Good Lord. Not you too."

Grandma Scarlett glared at her.

"Margaret, don't tell me you're going to let this slide."

"Of course not."

My mother guided her back toward the sofa.

"But we're not giving the Sullivans the satisfaction of ruining our New Year's celebration."

Grandpa Burton frowned.

"That boy needs to learn some manners."

"And he will," my mother replied calmly. "After the holiday."

She looked around the room.

"Think about it. Leo expects Nora to come crawling back. He thinks abandoning her in the cold will make her desperate enough to apologize."

Her expression hardened.

"Why should we give him the attention he's so desperate for?"

The room gradually quieted.

"We'll deal with him after New Year's Eve. And when we do, we'll make sure he understands exactly what it means to disrespect this family."

Grandma Scarlett considered that for a moment.

Then she slowly removed her coat.

"Fine."

She settled onto the sofa.

"But I want to be there when that little bastard gets what's coming to him."

Grandpa Burton grunted in agreement.

"Me too."

And just like that, the family council reached its decision.

Leo Sullivan could wait.

No matter how powerful his father was, we weren't about to let one arrogant Mafia heir destroy our holiday.

The Hensons were a large family.

Every year, New Year's Eve was an occasion that brought relatives from all over Illinois together.

This year, everyone decided to celebrate at our house.

By the following afternoon, the entire property was buzzing with activity.

The men took over the kitchen, arguing over recipes while preparing an enormous holiday feast.

My father insisted on roasting the beef himself, while two of my uncles competed over who made the better barbecue ribs.

The smell of garlic, butter, roasted meat, and freshly baked bread filled every room.

The women gathered around the dining table with cards, glasses of wine, and enough family gossip to last until midnight.

Every so often, someone would mention Leo.

And every time, Grandma Scarlett would mutter something unpleasant about the Sullivan family.

My mother eventually told everyone to stop talking about him.

"This is Nora's holiday," she said. "We're not spending it discussing that jackass."

I couldn't have agreed more.

For the first time since the incident at the rest stop, I felt myself relaxing.

I helped the younger children bundle up in their winter coats and took them into the backyard.

Someone had bought boxes of fireworks, and my cousins were already setting them up in the designated open area beyond the patio.

The kids squealed with excitement.

"Come on, Aunt Nora!"

"Light another one!"

I laughed and stepped back as my cousin ignited the first firework.

A sharp whistle pierced the night.

Then came a tremendous crack.

Red and gold sparks exploded across the dark sky.

Another followed.

Then another.

Silver streaks scattered overhead, shimmering like falling stars before fading into the darkness.

The children cheered.

I stood among them, watching the colors bloom above the Henson estate.

For four years, I'd imagined spending my future holidays with Leo.

I'd pictured myself sitting beside him at the Sullivan family's enormous dining table, smiling politely at his parents and learning to navigate the complicated traditions of a Mafia household.

I'd even imagined the day Libby might call me her sister.

Now, looking at the people gathered around me, I realized something.

I already had a family.

A family that would drive through the night to bring me home.

A family that would gather in my living room, furious on my behalf.

A family that didn't require seventeen thousand dollars as proof that I belonged.

When midnight finally arrived, the backyard erupted with cheers.

"Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year, everyone!"

My father wrapped an arm around my mother's shoulders.

My grandparents exchanged a kiss.

The children ran around hugging anyone they could reach.

I laughed as my youngest cousin nearly knocked me over.

"Happy New Year, Aunt Nora!"

"Happy New Year, sweetheart."

My phone began vibrating almost nonstop.

Messages poured in from friends, former classmates, colleagues, and relatives who couldn't make it to the celebration.

I sat down on a patio chair and began replying.

Happy New Year! Wishing you all the best!

Hope this year brings you everything you're wishing for!

For the first time in days, I found myself smiling at the screen.

Then a familiar name appeared.

Leo Sullivan.

My smile vanished.

I opened the message.

Done throwing your little tantrum?

Where the hell are you? Why haven't you shown up yet?

My whole family's here waiting to meet you.

I stared at the words.

For a moment, I genuinely wondered whether he'd lost his mind.

He'd deliberately abandoned me in freezing rain.

He'd blocked my calls.

He'd driven away in a vehicle that didn't belong to him.

And when the state police contacted him, he'd refused to return it.

Yet somehow, in Leo Sullivan's version of reality, I was the one throwing a tantrum.

Before I could decide whether to respond, another message arrived.

I don't care where you are.

You have one hour to get to the estate.

My parents and the family elders are waiting. Don't embarrass me by being disrespectful.

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

One hour?

Who the hell did he think he was?

A Mafia boss issuing orders to his soldiers?

And what was that nonsense about his elders waiting?

Did he genuinely believe his family was royalty?

That I should feel honored simply because the great Sullivan family had allowed me to visit their mansion?

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Four years ago, I might have swallowed my anger and tried to smooth things over.

I might have worried about embarrassing him in front of his parents.

But that version of me had been left behind at a freezing highway rest stop.

A third message arrived.

This time, it was a photograph.

I tapped to enlarge it.

Several men were crowded around a massive dining table inside what appeared to be the Sullivan estate's formal dining room.

Most wore expensive dress shirts with their sleeves rolled up.

A few had loosened their ties.

Almost every man had a cigarette or cigar between his fingers.

The air was so thick with smoke that the chandelier above them looked hazy.

Half-empty whiskey bottles covered the table.

Plates were piled with chicken bones, scraps of steak, discarded napkins, and half-eaten side dishes.

Empty beer bottles littered the floor.

In the background, two younger men were laughing over a card game.

The entire scene looked less like a formal family gathering and more like the aftermath of a drunken meeting between Mafia soldiers.

I stared at the photograph.

This was what Leo meant when he said his family was waiting for me?

A room full of men drinking, smoking, and eating while expecting me to rush over and pay my respects?

Had he seriously planned for me to arrive after midnight and sit down to whatever scraps they'd left behind?

I looked up.

Through the glass doors, I could see my own family gathered around our dining table.

The white tablecloth was covered with fresh dishes.

There was roast beef, glazed ham, seafood, salads, homemade desserts, and bottles of wine.

My grandparents sat at the head of the table.

My mother was laughing at something my uncle had said.

My father was cutting another slice of roast for one of the children.

The room was warm, bright, and full of people who loved me.

I raised my phone and took a picture.

Then I sent it to Leo.

Sorry, Leo. I'm spending New Year's with my own family.

And unlike you, we actually know how to host a proper holiday dinner.

I'm afraid I don't have the privilege of rushing over to eat your leftovers. You'll have to finish them yourselves.

I paused before typing one final message.

Oh, and one more thing.

You should return my Mercedes before this turns into a problem even the Sullivan family can't make disappear.

I hit send.

A moment later, the little typing indicator appeared beneath his name.

Leo is typing...

I waited.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten.

The indicator disappeared.

No reply came.

I stared at the screen for another moment before locking my phone.

Whatever Leo was thinking, I didn't care.

He'd made his choice when he drove away from that rest stop.

And I'd made mine when I called the police.

I wasn't going to spend another minute begging a man like him to treat me with basic respect.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and went back inside.

My mother waved me over.

"Nora, come have some dessert. Your aunt made your favorite chocolate cake."

I smiled.

"Coming."

For the rest of the night, I didn't look at my phone again.

I ate, laughed, played cards with my cousins, and listened to Grandpa Burton tell the same old stories he'd been telling since I was a child.

By the time I finally went upstairs, I was exhausted.

But for the first time since Leo abandoned me, I slept peacefully.

I thought the worst part of the holiday was behind me.

I thought Leo would either return my car or wait until after New Year's to continue arguing.

I was wrong.

Because the following morning, while the Henson family was still enjoying breakfast, three black vehicles pulled up outside our front gates.

The security camera showed Leo climbing out of the first SUV.

He was wearing a dark wool coat, his expression thunderous.

His father stepped out behind him, dressed in an expensive charcoal suit.

Vincent Sullivan.

The head of the Sullivan crime family.

A man whose name was enough to make half the city's nightclub owners nervous.

Then Leo's mother emerged from the back seat, wrapped in a fur coat, her chin lifted with the arrogance of a woman accustomed to being treated like Mafia royalty.

All three of them marched toward our front entrance.

From the way they carried themselves, anyone would have thought they were arriving to collect a debt from some unfortunate family that had crossed the Chicago underworld.

Leo's face was twisted with anger.

His father looked grim.

And his mother was already gesturing furiously toward our house.

I stood in the living room, watching the security feed.

My expression slowly turned cold.

Apparently, Leo hadn't come to apologize.

He'd brought his parents.

And judging by their faces, the Sullivan family hadn't come to make peace.

They'd come looking for a fight.