PART 2 : He was the most fearsome man in Chicago

The next three days passed in a tense, quiet routine inside Suite 902. Elena’s strength returned rapidly under Dr. Vance’s care, her skin regaining its natural golden warmth, her amber eyes becoming sharper and more alert.

Roman visited twice a day. He never stayed long, and he rarely spoke about himself, but his presence became a strange, anchoring weight for Elena. He would stand by the window, watching the city while she fed Leo, his silent guardianship offering a sense of security she hadn't felt in months.

But on the fourth morning, the peace shattered.

Roman was sitting in his executive office on the thirty-fifth floor when Davis walked in without knocking. The guard’s face was grim.

"Sir, we have a situation in the lobby," Davis said, his hand resting instinctively on his radio. "Thomas Vance just arrived. He has four private security operatives with him. They aren't armed openly, but they’re carrying heavy. He’s demanding to see you."

Roman didn't blink. He slowly closed the laptop on his desk, his fingers interlocking over the polished mahogany surface. "Did he bring local law enforcement?"

"No, sir. He brought a stack of legal documents and a lot of noise."

"Bring him up," Roman said, his voice deadly calm. "Just him. His men stay in the plaza outside the revolving doors. If they step one foot into the lobby marble, have the tactical team detain them for trespassing."

Five minutes later, the private elevator clicked open, and Thomas Vance stepped into Roman’s office.

Thomas was a man in his late fifties, thick-necked, wearing a bespoke navy suit that couldn't quite hide his aggressive, bull-like posture. His hair was silver, his face flushed with an irritation he was struggling to contain. He didn't wait for Roman to speak; he marched straight to the desk, slamming a leather portfolio down.

"Calloway," Thomas barked, his voice raspy from decades of cigars and shouting over construction sites. "Let’s skip the corporate pleasantries. You have something that belongs to me."

Roman remained perfectly still, leaning back slightly in his leather chair. "I own everything in this building, Vance. If you left a briefcase in the lobby, you can check with lost and found."

"Don't play stupid with me!" Thomas snapped, leaning over the desk, his knuckles slamming into the wood. "My investigators tracked a vehicle associated with your private physician, Charles Vance, to this building three times this week. He’s been carrying pediatric supplies. My niece, Elena, disappeared from Cook County General four days ago. She’s here. I know she’s here."

Roman studied the man before him. He saw the desperation beneath the anger—the frantic terror of a man who was about to lose a multi-billion-dollar empire because a twenty-four-year-old girl had managed to give birth to a boy in the dark.

"Your niece is an adult, Thomas," Roman said smoothly. "Where she chooses to spend her time is none of my concern. And as for my physician, his patients are protected by confidentiality. You have no legal standing in this office."

Thomas drew himself up, a nasty, sharp smile twisting his lips. He opened the leather portfolio, sliding a document across the mahogany. "I have a temporary guardianship order signed by Judge Miller an hour ago. It cites Elena’s severe mental instability, her homelessness, and her medical abandonment of her child. I have the legal right to take custody of that baby for his own protection, Calloway. If you hide her, you're harboring a fugitive from a court mandate."

Roman didn't look at the paper. He knew exactly how much a judge like Miller cost in Chicago; he had bought and sold men like him for a decade.

"Judge Miller’s jurisdiction ends where my perimeter begins," Roman said, his voice dropping into a register that made the air in the office feel ten degrees colder. He rose from his chair, his full six-foot-three frame towering over Thomas Vance. The sheer, physical menace of the man who ruled Chicago’s underbelly came to the forefront, stripping away the corporate executive mask.

"Listen to me very carefully, Thomas," Roman said, stepping around the desk until he was inches from the older man. "You have spent twenty years bullying tenants out of tenements and bribing city councilmen. You think that makes you dangerous. But you are standing in my house. If you or your men attempt to access the residential floors of this building, you won't be served with an injunction. You will be cleared away as a security threat. Do you understand what that means?"

Thomas swallowed, his cocky smile faltering as he looked into Roman’s cold, obsidian eyes. For the first time, he realized he wasn't dealing with a business rival. He was dealing with a warlord.

"You can't keep her forever, Calloway," Thomas hissed, backing toward the elevator. "The trust expires in ten days. If that child isn't registered with the estate executors with a verified paternity and maternal custody clearance by her twenty-fifth birthday, the shares revert to me automatically. You’re just delaying the inevitable."

The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off Thomas’s voice.