Only a few building security guards remained, sweeping up the wet footprints near the entrance.

I stood there, staring at the empty street where the flashing lights were fading into the Chicago drizzle.

The rain tap-tapped against the thick glass facade.

“Are you alright?” Adrian asked, turning to face me.

I looked down at my hands.

They had finally stopped shaking.

“I think I am,” I said.

“Let us get out of here,” he said, gesturing toward the secure underground garage elevator.

“The media will be here soon.”

We walked back to the elevators and descended to the private parking level.

His black sedan was waiting, the engine idling quietly in the concrete bay.

His driver, Thomas, stood by the rear door and opened it for us.

“To the estate, Mr. Romano?” Thomas asked.

“Yes, Thomas,” Adrian said. “Take the scenic route. Let us breathe a little.”

I slid into the leather seat, the warmth of the car wrapping around me.

Adrian sat beside me, keeping a respectful distance but remaining close enough that I could feel his presence.