Chapter 4 - THE SHATTERED GLASS
Glass rained down across the living room rug, sparkling like deadly ice. A heavy brick thudded onto the floorboards, wrapped in a piece of white paper.
I crawled frantically toward the bedroom where Leo was still sleeping, unaffected by the noise thanks to his exhaustion. My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Roman!" I yelled into the phone, which had skittered across the floor. I grabbed it, pressing it to my ear. "Someone just threw a brick through my window!"
"Marcus is coming up. Open the door for him and no one else." Roman's voice was frighteningly calm. "Do not read the paper on the brick, Megan."
But it was too late. I was already staring at it. The note was written in thick black marker.
WE KNOW WHO HELPED HIM.
Three heavy knocks sounded at the door. "Megan. It's Marcus."
I scrambled up, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the heavy man inside. He took one look at the shattered window, drew a dark handgun from his shoulder holster, and moved to clear the apartment.
"Get your son," Marcus ordered over his shoulder. "Five minutes."
I ran into the bedroom. I didn't pack clothes. I packed Leo's dinosaur blanket, his favorite stuffed triceratops, the antibiotics, and my wallet. I scooped my sleeping son into my arms. He whimpered, resting his hot cheek against my neck.
Marcus escorted us down the back stairs. The alley behind my building was empty, the matte-black SUV waiting with the engine running.
We drove in silence for forty minutes, leaving the cramped, gray streets of my neighborhood behind, winding into the heavily wooded suburbs north of the city. We finally pulled through a massive set of wrought-iron gates that opened silently at our approach.
The estate was breathtaking—a modern fortress of stone and glass surrounded by acres of private forest.
Marcus led us inside. The house was warm, quiet, and smelled of woodsmoke.
Roman was sitting in a leather armchair in the library. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He looked worse than last night. His face was gray, and a slight tremor shook his fingers. A doctor with a black bag was just packing up to leave.
"Put the boy in the guest room upstairs," Roman told Marcus. He looked at me. "There’s a fever reducer on the bedside table. Go take care of him. Then come back down."
I settled Leo into a bed that felt like a cloud. I gave him the medicine, kissed his cheek, and walked back downstairs. My fear had morphed into a desperate, burning anger.
I walked into the library and threw the silver coin onto the glass coffee table.
"My husband's initials are on that coin," I said, my voice shaking. "Jonathan died three years ago. The police said it was a drunk driver. But someone threw a brick through my window today because I helped you, and you have his coin."
May you like
Roman stared at the silver wolf. He took a slow sip of his drink.
"Jonathan didn't die in a hit-and-run, Megan," Roman said softly. "He died driving a getaway car for the men who stabbed me last night."
