Chapter 5 - Unraveling the WebRoman stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet, deliberate click. He didn't look at Claire; his entire focus was fixed on his son.
"Ethan," Roman said, dropping to one knee in front of the boy, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tremor of panic. "Look at me."
Ethan shrank back slightly, clutching his stuffed rabbit like a shield. "Dad... I'm sorry."
"Who was near the pier?" Roman asked, each word clipped and sharp as glass. "Did you see a face? Did you recognize a car?"
"He had a black hood up," Ethan whispered, tears spilling over his cheeks. "He didn't touch me, Dad! I just panicked and slipped!"
Roman closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against his son’s shoulder. For three agonizing seconds, Claire watched the untouchable Chicago crime boss crumble into a terrified father. The sheer vulnerability of it stunned her. All of Roman’s coldness, all of his paranoia—it wasn't cruelty; it was armor built around a gaping, bleeding wound.
When Roman lifted his head, the softness was gone, replaced by a cold, concentrated fury that promised absolute destruction to whoever had dared target his child.
He stood up and looked at Claire.
"You heard him," Roman said flatly.
"I did," Claire replied, rising to her feet. "And before you start treating me like a suspect again, let me remind you that if I hadn't been walking down that specific, inconveniently long route home last night, your son wouldn't be sitting here right now."
Roman stared at her, the rigid walls of his defense mechanisms visibly cracking. He walked over to the window, staring out at the grey expanse of the lawn, before turning back to face her.
"Thank you," he said, the words clearly tasting foreign and difficult on his tongue. "For saving him."
"You're welcome," Claire said, crossing her arms. "Now that we've established I'm not a corporate assassin, can I please go home? I have a cat who hasn't been fed in twenty-four hours, and I'm pretty sure he's planning to eat my sofa."
Roman didn't answer immediately. He walked toward the door, holding it open for Ethan.
"Martha will take you down to the kitchen, get you some breakfast, and have one of my drivers take you home," Roman said quietly.
Claire let out a long breath of relief. "Thank you."
"However," Roman added, stopping in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto hers with unyielding intensity, "you are not going back to your apartment."
Claire froze. "Excuse me?"
"The men who left those notes know you pulled Ethan from the river," Roman said. "My security teams picked up encrypted radio chatter twenty minutes ago tracking our movements. They know you were brought here. To them, you are no longer an innocent bystander—you are a witness who interfered with their target."
May you like
Claire’s blood ran cold. "That's insane. I'm a nurse!"
"You saved the heir to the Mercer syndicate," Roman corrected coldly. "In my world, association is a death sentence. Until I find out who authorized that attempt on my son, you are not safe outside these walls."
