Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF LEAVING ROMAN CARTER
By noon on Christmas Day, the hospital floor had more security than some courthouses.
I hated it.
Men in dark suits stood near both elevators.
Another sat outside my room.
Roman had a second team watching the parking garage.
He claimed it was temporary.
I had been married to him long enough to know that in Roman’s world, temporary often meant until he decided otherwise.
Grace slept against my chest while Evelyn stood near the window speaking quietly on her phone.
Roman had left to make calls of his own.
The moment he disappeared, I looked at Evelyn.
“Tell me exactly who Malcolm Grayson is.”
She lowered the phone.
“Besides Roman’s business partner?”
“Yes.”
“You know almost as much as I do.”
“That means no.”
Evelyn sighed.
“Malcolm and Roman built Carter Logistics together. Roman had the family money and connections. Malcolm had the operational experience. They turned one regional shipping company into an empire.”
“Why would he send me the picture?”
“I don’t know.”
“Roman thinks it’s dangerous.”
“Roman thinks everything he can’t control is dangerous.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”
Evelyn studied me.
“You still trust him.”
“No.”
The answer came fast.
Then I looked down at Grace.
“But I trust his fear.”
That was different.
I had seen Roman angry hundreds of times.
Frustrated.
Cold.
Threatening.
I had almost never seen him afraid.
The difference mattered.
At three that afternoon, he returned.
He entered with two cups of coffee and a paper bag.
“I brought you food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“Did you bring a divorce settlement too?”
Evelyn covered a laugh with a cough.
Roman handed her one of the coffees.
“I assume you’ll be charging me four hundred dollars an hour for every sarcastic comment.”
“Six hundred.”
“Inflation.”
“Your fault somehow, probably.”
Under different circumstances, I might have smiled.
Roman placed the food on the table beside me.
Then he looked at Grace.
He always softened when he saw her.
That scared me almost as much as everything else.
Because tenderness made it easier to remember the man I loved.
“Malcolm isn’t answering his phone,” Roman said.
“Maybe he’s celebrating Christmas,” I replied.
“He doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”
Evelyn frowned.
“Why send the photo anonymously if he wanted Savannah to know?”
Roman took the chair across from my bed.
“Because it wasn’t about the affair.”
I laughed once.
“It was definitely about the affair.”
His face tightened.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“But the photo was taken outside the Franklin Hotel.”
I waited.
“So?”
“Claire asked me to meet her there.”
“I assumed hotels were convenient.”
His eyes flickered with shame.
Good.
I wanted shame to become a permanent resident in his body.
“Not for that,” he said. “She said she had information about Malcolm.”
Evelyn and I exchanged a look.
I almost threw the hospital water pitcher at him.
“You expect me to believe the mistress suddenly became a confidential informant?”
“No.”
“What exactly do you expect me to believe?”
“That I slept with Claire.”
At least he did not flinch from it.
“That part is true. I’m not going to insult you by pretending otherwise.”
“Congratulations on achieving the minimum requirement for human decency.”
“Savannah.”
“Continue.”
His hands folded loosely between his knees.
“Two weeks ago, I learned someone inside Carter Logistics had been selling routing information to competitors. Contracts were being undercut before bids closed. Private financial data was leaked. Three major clients walked.”
“And Claire knew something?”
“She claimed Malcolm was behind it.”
“Why?”
“She said Malcolm had been using her to get information from me.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“You were sleeping with a woman who might have been spying on you?”
Roman’s mouth flattened.
“Yes.”
“Roman Carter, feared by half of Chicago, brought down by a blonde with cheekbones.”
Evelyn murmured, “There’s poetry in it.”
He ignored her.
“At first, I thought Claire was protecting herself. Then she showed me copies of private company files Malcolm had given her.”
“Why would he give her files?”
“Because they were partners.”
The word landed differently.
“Business partners?”
Roman looked at me.
“Personal too.”
I stared.
“You mean she was sleeping with both of you?”
“Apparently.”
For the first time since Christmas Eve, genuine laughter escaped me.
It was not graceful.
It was not kind.
It was nearly hysterical.
Roman looked offended.
That made me laugh harder.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “No, actually, I’m not.”
Even Evelyn was smiling.
Roman waited.
Eventually I stopped.
“Continue.”
“Claire said Malcolm planned to force me out of the company. She wanted money in exchange for evidence.”
“And you met her.”
“Yes.”
“And hugged her.”
“She was frightened.”
My smile disappeared.
“How comforting that you were available.”
His eyes dropped.
“I won’t defend it.”
“But you did hold her.”
“Yes.”
“Did you kiss her?”
“No.”
“Not that night?”
“No.”
“But other nights.”
“Yes.”
Each answer cut.
Still.
But less than before.
Maybe because the wound could not keep opening forever.
Eventually there was only damage.
“What does Malcolm want from me?” I asked.
Roman’s gaze moved to Grace.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
A knock interrupted us.
One of Roman’s men entered.
He carried an envelope.
“This was delivered downstairs.”
“To whom?” Roman asked.
“Mrs. Carter.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Roman stood.
“Who delivered it?”
“Courier. Paid cash.”
“Give it to me.”
“No,” I said.
Roman stopped.
“It’s addressed to me.”
“Savannah.”
“You said this wasn’t about controlling me.”
His jaw flexed.
Then he handed me the envelope.
Evelyn moved closer.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Three typed lines.
Ask your husband what happens to people who leave him.
Ask what Malcolm knows.
Then ask yourself whether the safest place for your daughter is beside a Carter.
No signature.
I read it twice.
Then looked at Roman.
His face had emptied of emotion.
“Who leaves you?”
No answer.
“Roman.”
He turned toward the security officer.
“Clear the room.”
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“This conversation isn’t for Evelyn.”
“She’s my attorney.”
“It isn’t about the divorce.”
“Then she stays.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Roman finally nodded.
The security officer left.
Roman crossed to the window.
Outside, snow covered Chicago in white.
“My father did not build legitimate businesses.”
I knew pieces.
Whispers.
Rumors.
Stories people stopped telling when I entered rooms.
Roman’s father, Anthony Carter, had owned transportation companies, construction firms, and clubs across three states.
He had also allegedly controlled things that never appeared on tax returns.
Roman rarely spoke about him.
“I know,” I said.
“No. You know the version I allowed you to know.”
Something cold moved through me.
“Go on.”
“When I took over, I spent ten years separating Carter Logistics from everything my father built around it.”
“Separating?”
“Closing operations. Buying people out. Turning evidence over through attorneys. Paying settlements. Ending relationships.”
“With criminals?”
“Yes.”
The directness unsettled me.
“Malcolm helped.”
“And now?”
“Now I think he kept some of those relationships for himself.”
Grace shifted against my chest.
I held her tighter.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Malcolm knows there is one thing I will choose over the company.”
I already knew.
His eyes settled on Grace.
Then me.
“You.”
I shook my head.
“That sounds convenient.”
“It isn’t romantic, Savannah.”
“Good, because romance is not your strongest area lately.”
His face tightened.
“I’m telling you someone may use you to make me react.”
“Someone already did.”
“Yes.”
The room became painfully quiet.
Roman looked toward Grace.
“The photograph was bait.”
“To make me leave the estate.”
“That’s what I think.”
My skin turned cold.
The estate had armed guards.
Cameras.
Gates.
I had left all of it willingly.
Because of a photograph someone deliberately sent.
“Then why didn’t Malcolm do anything last night?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It terrifies me.”
He said it so quietly that I almost missed it.
Roman crossed the room.
He stopped several feet from the bed.
Not close enough to touch me.
“Come back to the estate temporarily.”
“No.”
“Savannah—”
“No.”
“The security is better.”
“I would rather live in a police station.”
“Then I’ll arrange it.”
“You don’t understand, do you?”
His expression hardened.
“I understand that you and Grace may be in danger.”
“And I understand that every time you’re afraid, you decide for everyone around you.”
“This is not the moment for a philosophical argument.”
“No, Roman. This is exactly the moment.”
I shifted Grace carefully into the bassinet.
“My daughter was born six hours ago. My marriage ended twelve hours before that. I just learned the man I married concealed half his life from me. And your solution is that I should return to your fortress and let you decide what happens next.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“And I am trying to remember who I am.”
He stared at me.
My voice softened.
“You don’t get to save me from consequences you helped create and call it love.”
That struck him.
I saw it.
Good.
Maybe truth needed to hurt.
Evelyn cleared her throat.
“There is another option.”
We both looked at her.
“I have access to a secured apartment through a client. Private underground garage. Building security. No connection to Savannah.”
Roman immediately shook his head.
“I need to inspect it.”
“You need nothing.”
“Evelyn.”
She stepped closer.
“You promised not to fight her decision. Start practicing.”
His eyes moved to me.
I waited.
For a moment, I saw the Roman everyone feared.
The man who could make a room obey with a glance.
Then he looked at Grace.
The hardness faded.
“All right.”
One word.
A surrender.
Small.
But real.
Two days later, Grace and I left the hospital.
Roman followed in another car.
He did not tell me where to sit.
He did not choose the route.
He did not enter the apartment until I invited him.
He inspected the windows, doors, and alarm system without speaking.
Then he stood beside Grace’s portable crib.
“I filed nothing regarding custody,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Evelyn told you?”
“She threatened to remove parts of my anatomy if I tried.”
“That sounds like Evelyn.”
“I opened an account for Grace.”
“Roman—”
“In your name.”
I stopped.
“You control it. I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if anything happens to me, Malcolm cannot touch it.”
A warning moved beneath the words.
Before I could respond, his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
Everything in his face changed.
“Who is it?”
“Claire.”
I felt my stomach turn.
Roman answered.
“What?”
I could hear a woman crying faintly.
His eyes sharpened.
“Where are you?”
A pause.
Then Roman’s gaze lifted to mine.
“What did you say?”
Another pause.
“Claire.”
His voice became deadly calm.
“What did Malcolm do?”
Whatever she answered made Roman go pale.
He ended the call.
“What?” I demanded.
Roman stared at me.
“Claire says Malcolm knows where you are.”
My blood froze.
“That’s impossible.”
Roman turned toward the front windows.
“No.”
He reached beneath his coat and drew the handgun I had forgotten he sometimes carried.
“It means we were wrong.”
“About what?”
He looked toward Grace.
“The photograph wasn’t meant to make you leave the estate.”
He moved to the door.
May you like
“It was meant to make us separate.”
And somewhere below us, the building alarm began to scream.
