Chapter 3 - Through the Snow
The road to Janesville was a desolate ribbon of black asphalt flanked by towering walls of plowed snow. The sky above was the color of slate, heavy with the promise of more winter precipitation.
Victor drove himself in a heavy black SUV, rejecting the armored sedan and convoy Marco had insisted on sending. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers were the only sounds filling the cabin.
As the miles stretched between him and the Chicago skyline, Victor felt an unfamiliar sensation settling in his gut: vulnerability.
In Chicago, Victor Rinaldi was an absolute monarch. People bowed when he entered a room; politicians took his calls on the first ring; rivals spoke his name in hushed, guarded tones. But out here, amidst the endless white fields of rural Wisconsin, his name meant nothing. Power couldn't fix a broken heart, and fear couldn't compel a mother to trust a man who had abandoned her when her babies were fighting for breath in an incubator.
He pulled off the main highway onto a narrow county road lined with bare oak trees. Ten minutes later, he reached the outer perimeter of the Janesville recovery facility.
It didn't look like an institution. It looked like a grand, stone country manor surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence and thick pine trees. A single, gated entrance guarded the driveway, where a security booth sat under the soft glow of an overhead lamp.
Victor pulled his SUV up to the gate. A security guard in a heavy tactical jacket stepped out of the booth, holding a clipboard.
Victor rolled down his window. Cold air rushed into the warm cabin.
"Private facility, sir," the guard said politely but firmly. "No visitors without prior clearance from the administration."
"Tell Dr. Evelyn Hayes that Victor Rinaldi is at the gate," Victor said, his tone quiet and calm.
The guard’s expression stiffened instantly. Clearly, Evelyn had given explicit instructions regarding that name. The guard reached for his radio. "Stand by."
Victor waited in the idling vehicle. He looked up at the main building through the pine trees. On the second floor, a soft, warm light glowed from behind sheer white curtains. He wondered if that was where Nora was sitting right now—holding Leo, feeding Mia, listening to the hum of the wind outside.
A moment later, the side door of the security booth opened, and Evelyn Hayes stepped out into the freezing air. She wore a long dark wool coat, her hair tied back in a neat, professional bun. She walked straight to Victor’s window, her face set in an expression of pure iron.
Victor didn't get out. He lowered the window a bit further. "Evelyn."
"You have ten seconds to turn this vehicle around before I press the emergency panic button linked directly to the county sheriff's office," Evelyn said, her breath fogging in the frigid air. "I told you on the phone, Victor. You are not welcome here."
"I’m not here to cause a scene, Evelyn," Victor said softly, his voice devoid of its usual arrogant edge. "I’m not here with armed men. I came alone."
Evelyn let out a bitter, cold breath. "Do you think coming alone makes you a martyr? Do you think it wipes away months of leaving your wife alone in a hospital room while you ran your criminal enterprise and entertained your mistress?"
Victor flinched. The word mistress stung like a physical blow, but he didn't deny it. He didn't offer excuses or blame his stressful life. "I made terrible mistakes. I am not here to defend them."
Evelyn crossed her arms, staring at him with deep skepticism. "Then why are you here?"
"I need to know if they are okay," Victor said, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "Really okay. I need to know if Leo’s lungs are holding up in this cold. I need to know if Mia is taking her weight-gain formula."
Evelyn searched his face for a long, silent moment. She had expected the ruthless syndicate boss—the man who demanded compliance and made threats. Instead, she was looking at a man whose eyes were sunken with exhaustion, whose posture was slouched with a quiet, devastating grief.
"They are doing well," Evelyn said, her voice softening by a tiny fraction, though her stance remained rigid. "Leo’s breathing has stabilized. The specialized air filtration in this facility is keeping his airways clear. Mia gained two ounces yesterday. They are safe, Victor. Truly safe."
Victor closed his eyes for a brief second, breathing out a long, shaky sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Evelyn snapped. "I’m doing this for my sister and my niece and nephew. Not for you."
"Can I see her?" Victor asked, looking toward the second-floor window. "Just for five minutes. From across the room. I won't even speak to her if she doesn't want me to."
"No," Evelyn said firmly. "Nora is exhausted, Victor. She spent months operating on adrenaline, trying to keep those babies alive while keeping up the pretense that her marriage wasn't collapsing around her. Since we got here, she has slept for the first time in ninety days without waking up in a panic. I will not let you shatter her peace."
Victor swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick white envelope. He held it out through the window.
Evelyn looked at it suspiciously. "What is that?"
"It’s the deed and title to the Lake Geneva estate," Victor said. "I’ve transferred ownership directly into a private trust under Nora’s name. It’s hers. Completely independent of me. If she never wants to see me again, she can sell it, live in it, or tear it down. It’s equipped with a private medical suite now. If she needs to leave this facility, she has a permanent home nearby."
Evelyn looked at the envelope, then back at Victor’s face. "Is this an attempt to buy her forgiveness?"
"It’s an attempt to ensure my children never have to hide in a van in the middle of a blizzard again," Victor said, his voice cracking slightly. "Tell her... tell her the house is being prepared. It’s warm. It has everything they need. And tell her I won't enter the property without her explicit permission."
Evelyn slowly reached out and took the envelope. She looked down at the heavy wax seal bearing the Rinaldi family crest.
"She isn't ready to talk to you, Victor," Evelyn said, her tone no longer furious, but somber. "The wound is too deep. You didn't just break her heart; you made her feel entirely alone when she was at her weakest."
"I know," Victor whispered.
"Then go," Evelyn said, stepping back from the SUV. "If you really love her—if you really want to save what’s left of your soul—go to that house in Lake Geneva and fix yourself before you ever ask her to come back."
Victor stared at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded. He rolled up his window, shifted the SUV into reverse, and slowly backed away from the gate.
As his vehicle retreated down the snow-covered lane, he looked up at the second-floor window one last time. Behind the sheer curtain, a shadow moved. A slender silhouette stood looking down at the driveway, holding a tiny bundle against her chest.
May you like
Nora.
Victor stopped the car for a single second, his heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn't see her eyes, but he felt her gaze cutting through the glass, through the snow, straight into his soul. He didn't wave. He didn't honk. He simply pressed his palm against the glass of his window, holding it there for a moment of quiet, unspoken penitence, before turning his car toward Lake Geneva.
