Chapter 22 - The Gathering Storm at DuskRoman walked into the house ten minutes later, his face carefully wiped clean of the panic and rage burning inside him.
Celeste was standing at the stove stirring a pot of soup, while three-year-old Maya was busy building a tower of wooden blocks on the braided living room rug.
"You're home late," Celeste said without turning around, though the sharp, attuned tone of her voice told him immediately she sensed something was wrong.
Roman walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her dark hair, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla and soap.
"Traffic at the mill," Roman lied smoothly, though his grip was tighter than usual.
Celeste stopped stirring. She turned slowly in his arms, her dark, perceptive eyes searching his face. She had spent six years decoding every micro-expression he made. She knew the difference between a bad day at work and a storm on the horizon.
"Who is in the driveway, Roman?" she asked quietly.
Roman closed his eyes for a brief second. He knew there was no point hiding anything from The Architect.
"Marco," he admitted.
Celeste didn't flinch. She didn't drop her spoon. Her jaw tightened just a fraction. "Detective Gallo?"
Roman opened his eyes, surprised. "You knew?"
"I keep an eye on the Chicago police dockets through public appellate records, Roman. I saw Gallo requisitioning old racketeering warrants three weeks ago," she said, her voice entirely steady. "I was hoping he wouldn't look this far north."
"He found Marco," Roman said grimly. "Which means he’s looking for a connection to us."
"Then we don't let him find one," Celeste said, stepping out of his embrace and walking over to the kitchen window. She stared out into the dark, wind-swept yard where Marco’s car sat idling in the shadows. "Marco can't stay here. If Gallo’s men are tracking his phone ping, they’ll be on this peninsula by midnight."
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"I'll take him up north into the woods, hide him at the old logging cabin," Roman offered immediately.
"No," Celeste turned around, her eyes flashing with a cold, tactical brilliance. "Running into the woods makes us prey. If Gallo wants to hunt us on our own ground, we set the terms of the trap."
