Chapter 2 - The Echoes of HighlandtownThe private wing of the Calder estate resembled a high-end medical ward by noon the following day.
Dr. Vance, a trusted family physician who had stitched up Roman’s wounds after gang shootouts and patched up his father before him, packed his black leather bag with a grim expression. He turned to face Roman, who was standing silently by the window of the adjoining sitting room, staring out toward the manicured lawns.
"She’s suffering from severe dehydration, exhaustion, and early-stage hypothermia," Dr. Vance reported, keeping his voice low. "The friction burns on her wrists are deep, and she’s running a mild fever. But she’s resilient. Give her forty-eight hours of continuous IV fluids, absolute rest, and warmth, and she’ll recover physically."
"And mentally?" Roman asked, his gaze not wavering from the window.
"She’s carrying a heavy burden, Roman. When she woke briefly an hour ago, her first words weren't about her pain or the people who put her there. She asked about a boy. A child named Caleb."
Roman’s jaw tightened. "Her brother. Nine years old."
"She was terrified he was alone," the doctor said, snapping his bag shut. "Whatever life she has outside these gates, it’s fragile. If you're going to keep her here while the police handle Miss Sterling and her co-conspirators, make sure she feels safe. Right now, her nervous system is in a state of hyper-vigilance."
"She is safe here," Roman said quietly. "Nobody touches her in this house ever again."
When the doctor left, Roman walked softly into the bedroom.
Nora was sleeping, wrapped in heavy, heated blankets. Her face, usually pale and drawn with quiet fatigue, looked startlingly young against the crisp white pillows. The angry red marks around her wrists were covered in soothing burn ointment and gauze.
Roman pulled a heavy armchair close to the bedside and sat down.
He thought about the morning she had left his kitchen six days ago—the morning before Evelyn had orchestrated her abduction. He remembered her quiet movements, the way she hummed softly while brewing his coffee, and how she had quietly draped a throw blanket over his shoulders while he slept in the library.
He remembered his own cold dismissal: I don't drink chamomile.
A deep, burning wave of self-loathing washed over him. For years, Roman had prided himself on his control, believing that detachment was the only way to survive the underworld. He had allowed Evelyn Sterling into his orbit because her father controlled several key shipping terminals on the harbor, and a marriage of alliance made tactical sense. He had ignored her cruelty, her snobbery, and her dismissal of the staff, writing it off as the harmless vanity of high-society women.
Now, that vanity had nearly murdered an innocent woman whose only crime was existing in a world controlled by predators.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
The heavy oak door opened an inch, and Calvin, the estate’s veteran butler, stepped inside, holding a small silver tray with a sealed envelope.
"Mr. Calder," Calvin whispered respectfully. "A courier delivered this to the front gates ten minutes ago. It’s addressed to Miss Hayes."
Roman stood up and took the letter. He turned it over. The return address was written in neat, childish handwriting, adorned with faded baseball stickers taped to the corners.
Caleb Hayes. Highlandtown Apartments, Unit 4B.
Roman’s chest tightened. He looked back at Nora, who stirred slightly in her sleep, murmuring her brother's name.
"Calvin," Roman said softly.
"Sir?"
"Get my car. We're going to Highlandtown."
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"To the girl's apartment, sir? But the police—"
"The police are handling Evelyn and her father," Roman interrupted, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked no argument. "Right now, a nine-year-old boy is sitting in a cold apartment waiting for a sister who isn't coming home tonight unless I bring her word."
