Chapter 2 - THE MAN OUTSIDE MY SON’S WINDOW
I called Mrs. Parker before Roman’s men reached the parking garage.
She answered on the second ring.
“Megan?”
“Is Leo okay?”
“Yes, honey. He’s asleep.”
My knees nearly weakened.
“Lock the door.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“Please. Lock everything.”
“Megan?”
“Now.”
I heard the deadbolt turn.
Roman stood several feet away, giving me space but listening to every word.
“Check the windows,” I said.
Mrs. Parker moved through my apartment.
Kitchen.
Living room.
Leo’s bedroom.
Then she stopped.
“Oh.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
“There’s someone outside.”
Roman moved instantly.
“Ask where.”
I put the phone on speaker.
“Mrs. Parker, where?”
“Across the street. Black sedan.”
Roman’s security chief—Marco—was already calling someone.
“Don’t go near the window,” Roman said.
Mrs. Parker heard him.
“Who is that?”
“Long story.”
Marco spoke into his phone.
“Unit three, approach east side. No lights.”
My hands shook so badly Roman gently took the phone from me.
He did not touch me otherwise.
That mattered.
“Mrs. Parker,” he said calmly, “take Leo into the bathroom. Lock yourselves inside. Do not open the door for anyone unless Megan gives you a name.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone trying to keep them safe.”
I expected her to argue.
Instead:
“Fine.”
Seven minutes later, Marco’s team reached my street.
The sedan drove away before they could block it.
No license plate.
No identification.
But one man had stood close enough to my building to photograph my son’s bedroom.
That was enough.
Roman took us to his private residence.
I refused at first.
“I don’t know you.”
“Correct.”
“You’re clearly involved in something dangerous.”
“Also correct.”
“And you think taking my five-year-old into your house is safer?”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because anyone who enters my home without permission does not leave unnoticed.”
Not comforting.
Then Leo arrived wearing dinosaur pajamas beneath Mrs. Parker’s winter coat.
“Mommy!”
I dropped to my knees.
Pain shot through me from landing too hard, but I did not care.
I held him.
His little body was warm.
Safe.
He smelled like strawberry shampoo.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m happy to see you.”
He frowned.
“I saw you this morning.”
“I know.”
Roman stood in the background.
Leo noticed him.
“Who’s that?”
I hesitated.
Roman answered:
“Roman.”
“You’re really tall.”
Marco coughed to hide a laugh.
Roman looked almost offended.
“So I’ve been told.”
“You got blood on Mommy.”
The room went silent.
“How do you know?”
“My neighbor said her shirt looked scary.”
Roman looked at me.
Then crouched slowly so he was closer to Leo’s height.
“I’m sorry.”
Leo studied him.
“Did you say thank you?”
Roman glanced at me.
“No.”
My son folded his arms.
“My teacher says you have to.”
For perhaps the first time that night, Roman Duca looked uncertain.
He stood.
Then looked directly at me.
“Thank you, Megan.”
I almost smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
Leo nodded approvingly.
Then sneezed.
I remembered the antibiotics.
My stomach dropped.
I had been so frightened that I had forgotten.
“His medicine.”
Roman noticed.
“What?”
“He has an ear infection. I was supposed to buy antibiotics after my shift.”
Marco was already reaching for his phone.
“No.”
I stopped him.
“I can buy my son’s medication.”
Roman looked at me.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“I don’t need charity.”
“Neither does he. He needs antibiotics.”
Twenty minutes later, a pharmacy delivery arrived.
I argued until Roman showed me the receipt.
Paid from my final paycheck.
He had simply sent someone to fill the prescription.
Fair.
Annoyingly fair.
Leo fell asleep in a guest room after one dose.
I sat beside him until midnight.
When I finally stepped into the hallway, Roman was waiting.
His coat was gone.
I could see a bandage beneath his shirt.
“You should be in a hospital.”
“I have a doctor.”
“You nearly bled to death.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re welcome.”
His mouth almost smiled.
Then Marco approached carrying a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was something recovered beneath the black sedan’s parking location.
A photograph.
Not of me.
Not of Roman.
Leo.
Taken months earlier.
At a playground near our apartment.
My entire body went cold.
On the back was written:
SHE STILL DOESN’T KNOW WHO THE BOY’S FATHER WAS.
Roman looked at me.
“Megan.”
I stared at the photograph.
Leo’s father had died before Leo was born.
At least that was what I had been told.
Roman’s voice lowered.
“What was his name?”
“Ethan Carter.”
Marco stopped moving.
May you like
Roman’s face changed.
Because apparently both men knew that name.
