Chapter 8 - Midnight Flight into the Clouds
The private black Maybach glided silently through the rain-slicked streets of downtown Chicago.
Alexander sat beside me in the spacious leather interior, handing me a crystal tumbler of sparkling mineral water.
"Are you holding up well?" he asked, his deep voice soothing against the lingering tension humming in my veins.
"I feel lighter than I have in nearly a decade," I confessed, taking a slow sip.
"I spent seven years believing that if I only tried harder, Vincent would finally see me as a partner."
"A man like Vincent Moretti does not see partners, Claire; he sees assets and vulnerabilities," Alexander noted gently.
"And tonight, you proved you were neither."
I looked out the tinted window as the towering skyscrapers of Michigan Avenue blurred past.
Behind us, in the Drake Hotel ballroom, Vincent had undoubtedly unleashed holy terror upon his staff and security capos.
His men would be scouring the South Side, watching the commercial terminals, and staking out my former friends' apartments.
He expected me to retreat to a local hotel, weep over our shattered marriage, and eventually yield to his overwhelming authority.
He had no idea that our Maybach was bypassing all commercial traffic, heading directly toward the private executive tarmac at O’Hare.
Twenty minutes later, the luxury vehicle passed through an exclusive security checkpoint into the private hangar complex.
Parked beneath the floodlights stood a sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream G650 bearing the discreet silver crest of Hayes International.
The pilot and co-pilot stood at the foot of the airstair, offering crisp, professional salutes as we approached.
"All flight plans to Zurich are cleared through Canadian and Atlantic airspace, Mr. Hayes," the pilot reported.
"Luggage is already secured on board; we are ready for immediate departure upon your word."
"Excellent work, Captain," Alexander replied, turning to assist me up the stairs.
I paused on the top step of the aircraft, turning back to gaze at the sprawling Chicago skyline in the far distance.
That city had witnessed my youth, my marriage, my blind devotion, and my near-execution.
I had bled for that skyline, suffered silence for its unwritten mafia rules, and nearly died choking on its vanity.
Now, the dark clouds hanging over Lake Michigan felt distant and completely powerless.
I stepped inside the cabin, the heavy pressurized door sealing shut behind me with a solid, definitive thud.
The aircraft’s engines whined to life, vibrating through the plush carpet as the plane taxied toward the designated runway.
Within minutes, the Gulfstream accelerated down the tarmac, lifting effortlessly into the ink-black Midwestern sky.
As the glittering grid of Chicago shrank into a tiny circuit board of yellow lights below, my phone buzzed on the armrest.
It was a text message forwarded from my attorney, Marcus Vance.
The message contained a single frantic voice recording left on his office voicemail ten minutes ago.
I held the receiver to my ear and pressed play.
Vincent's voice sounded ragged, frantic, completely unhinged from his usual calculated demeanor.
"Tell her to come back, Vance! I know she is with that bastard Hayes!"
"Tell her I don't care about the ring! I will burn this entire city to the ground before I sign those divorce papers!"
"She belongs to me, do you hear me? She will always be Mrs. Moretti!"
I stared at the glowing screen for a second, feeling nothing but a profound, lingering pity for the monster I had once loved.
Without replying, I removed the SIM card from the slot, snapped the fragile gold chip cleanly in two, and dropped it into my empty glass.
Alexander watched from across the cabin, a subtle, approving smile touching the corners of his mouth.
May you like
"To new beginnings, Claire," he said softly, raising his glass of vintage Bordeaux.
"To Zurich," I replied, leaning back against the leather seat as the plane sliced through the clouds toward Europe.
