Chapter 2 - Landing in Manhattan
The Boeing 777 touched down at JFK International Airport with a heavy thud, the roar of the reverse thrusters vibrating through the fuselage. For most passengers, landing meant a rush for overhead bins and a frantic scramble to catch connecting flights. For me, it meant stepping back onto a battlefield where the stakes were infinitely higher than stock portfolios or real estate acquisitions.
As the seatbelt sign chimed, I stood up and retrieved Julie’s carry-on bag from the overhead compartment before grabbing my own. My personal security detail—four black SUVs led by Marcus, my head of security—was already idling on the tarmac-side private VIP exit, bypassing the chaotic terminal crowds.
"Dante, wait," Julie said, catching my arm as we moved down the jet bridge. "You can't just ambush her. Naomi has a fragile peace. If you show up at her studio with an army of guards, she will bolt. She’s had to look over her shoulder for five years."
"She won't have to look over her shoulder ever again," I replied, my tone leaving zero room for argument. "My uncle’s faction was dismantled three years ago. There are no more shadows hunting her. But she doesn't know that. You're going to help me bridge the gap, Julie, or I'll find her myself."
Julie hesitated, biting her lip. She looked at Lily, who was holding my hand—a completely natural, unprompted gesture that nearly broke my composure. The little girl didn't know who I was, yet her fingers wrapped around mine as if we had been holding hands every day of her life.
"Fine," Julie muttered. "We’re staying at a boutique hotel in Soho for three days while I attend a graphic design convention. Naomi thinks we're just having a girls' trip. If you want to talk to her, you do it on neutral ground. No suits, no intimidation."
"Deal," I said.
Within twenty minutes, we cleared private customs. Marcus was waiting by the door of a bulletproof Maybach, looking sharp in a charcoal suit. When he saw me step out with Julie and a four-year-old girl holding my hand, the stoic, iron-willed bodyguard looked like he had seen a ghost. His jaw dropped an inch before he quickly recovered, snapping into professional mode.
"Sir," Marcus nodded, opening the rear door. "Welcome back to New York."
"Marcus, cancel my 3:00 PM board meeting," I said, sliding into the leather interior with Lily hopping up beside me. "Reschedule the European acquisitions call for tomorrow morning. And pull every file we have on Naomi Ellis’s current life in Georgia. I want to know her favorite coffee shop, her daily routine, and every single person she talks to."
"Right away, sir," Marcus replied, his eyes darting to Lily, who was pressing her face against the tinted window to watch the yellow cabs streak past.
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As the Maybach glided out of JFK and onto the Van Wyck Expressway, my mind was racing. Five years. Five years of cold, calculated survival while the woman I never forgot was raising my child a thousand miles away. The empire I built was supposed to be my fortress, but looking at Lily tracing fog on the glass with her index finger, I realized my fortress had been a prison all along.
And I was about to tear it down to get my family back.
