Chapter 3 - HUNTING A SHADOW IN THE MARYLAND RAIN
The silver SUV cut through the blinding sheets of rain along Route 50, its tires hydroplaning slightly against the slick asphalt. Roman DeLuca gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned.
He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours.
Beside him in the passenger seat sat a fresh folder—the coordinates of a small blue house in Harbor Ridge, Maryland. Gabriel had tracked the registration of her old silver SUV through a toll booth near the Chesapeake Bay.
"You shouldn't go in there like a storm, Roman," Gabriel had warned him before he left. "She's vulnerable. The baby is premature."
But Roman couldn't wait. The guilt was an acid eating through his chest.
It was nearly midnight when he pulled into the coastal town. Harbor Ridge was the antithesis of Westchester. It smelled of salt water, diesel fuel from fishing boats, and wet pine. The houses were small, weathered by the Atlantic winds, sitting closely together like old friends sharing a secret.
He found the house at the end of a gravel road. It was exactly as Gabriel described: a modest, double-story cottage painted a faded robin's-egg blue, with a narrow porch and a single warm light burning in the downstairs window.
Roman killed the engine. For a long moment, the only sound was the rhythmic clicking of the cooling exhaust and the heavy patter of rain on the roof.
He stepped out into the downpour, his expensive Italian leather shoes sinking into the mud. He walked up the porch steps, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Through the sheer curtains of the living room window, he saw her.
Elena.
She looked thinner, her face pale, but her dark hair was pulled back into a soft, messy bun. She was rocking a small, white-blanketed bundle in her arms, swaying gently from side to side in a wooden rocking chair that squeaked softly with every movement.
The sight of her hit Roman harder than any bullet he had ever taken. She looked beautiful. She looked peaceful. She looked entirely removed from the violent, corrupted world he had forced her to inhabit.
He knocked on the door.
The rocking stopped instantly. Through the glass, he saw Elena stiffen. She looked toward the door, her eyes widening as she recognized the silhouette through the frosted pane.
She didn't run. She didn't panic. She slowly stood up, cradling the baby against her chest, and walked toward the door. She unlocked it and pulled it open just a few inches, kept secure by a heavy brass chain link.
"Roman," she said. Her voice wasn't filled with anger. It was entirely flat. Hollow.
"Elena..." Roman’s voice broke. He reached out, his wet fingers grasping the edge of the door. "Elena, please. I know the truth. I know about Vanessa. I know she forged everything. I know..."
"I know you know," Elena interrupted quietly. "Gabriel called me yesterday to tell me he found the driver."
Roman blinked, water dripping from his eyelashes. "Then... then you know I'm sorry. God, Elena, I am so sorry. I was blind. I let my pride destroy everything. Please, let me in. Let me see my son."
From behind Elena, a shadow moved. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a flannel shirt and heavy work boots stepped into the hallway. He looked about Roman's age, with weathered hands and a calm, fiercely protective gaze.
"Is there a problem here, Elena?" the man asked, his voice deep and rooted in the local soil.
Roman’s blood turned to fire. The old, territorial instincts of a mafia boss flared up before he could control them. He slammed his palm against the door. "Who the hell are you? Get away from my wife!"
The man didn't flinch. He just stepped closer to Elena, placing a supportive hand on the small of her back.
"His name is Dr. Thomas Brooks," Elena said, her voice dropping to a temperature that froze the air between them. "He is the chief of pediatrics at the local clinic. He is also the man who stayed in the delivery room for fourteen hours while I gave birth alone because my husband was busy throwing me out of his house."
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Roman felt the air leave his lungs.
"He isn't your son, Roman," Elena whispered, looking down at the sleeping infant in her arms. "You gave up the right to call him that when you signed those papers. Now please leave this porch before I let Thomas show you how people in this town handle trespassers."
