Chapter 5 - The Woman Behind the FortressThree weeks after the blizzard, Naen learned that being Roman Caldwell’s woman came with rules.
She hated almost every one of them.
The first rule was that she no longer walked anywhere alone.
Not to the grocery store.
Not to Leo’s school.
Not even the three blocks from her apartment to Mrs. Higgins’s building when the old woman called one evening because her kitchen sink had started leaking.
There was always a black SUV somewhere nearby.
Sometimes Victor drove.
Sometimes it was a quiet man named Ellis who had a scar behind his right ear and communicated almost exclusively through nods.
And sometimes Naen did not see anyone at all.
Those days were worse.
Because she knew someone was still there.
Watching.
Protecting.
The fortress had closed around her exactly as Roman had promised.
Naen simply had not realized fortresses could become claustrophobic.
On Monday morning, she entered Apex Freight carrying a cardboard tray with four coffees.
Victor looked up from the security station.
“No.”
Naen stopped.
“No what?”
“You’re not supposed to stop anywhere on the way to work.”
“I stopped at a coffee shop.”
“Exactly.”
Victor rose from his chair.
He was built like someone had assembled a human being from spare pieces of concrete.
“You have coffee here.”
“You have industrial sludge pretending to be coffee.”
“It contains caffeine.”
“So does cold medicine. I’m not drinking that either.”
Victor stared at her.
Naen stared back.
Three months earlier, that stare would have frightened her.
Now she handed him one of the cups.
“Black. Two sugars.”
Victor looked at it suspiciously.
“You memorized my order?”
“You complain loudly.”
His expression remained hard.
But he took the coffee.
Naen smiled.
“Thought so.”
She continued toward her desk.
Roman was standing beside it.
Naen almost dropped the remaining drinks.
He wore a dark charcoal suit without a tie.
One hand rested in his pocket.
The other held a folder.
His expression told her he had heard the entire conversation.
“You stopped somewhere.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Naen.”
“Roman.”
His eyes narrowed.
She placed his coffee beside the keyboard.
“Americano. No sugar.”
He looked at the cup.
Then at her.
“I have coffee upstairs.”
“You have expensive coffee upstairs. There’s a difference.”
Roman did not smile.
That meant he was genuinely irritated.
Naen removed her coat.
“What?”
“You changed the route.”
“I stopped for six minutes.”
“You changed the route without telling security.”
“I bought coffee.”
“Arthur’s people nearly killed you in this building.”
“Arthur is dead.”
“Arthur had associates.”
Naen froze.
There it was.
That word.
Dead.
Neither of them had ever explicitly discussed what had happened to Arthur after the warehouse attack.
She knew.
Roman knew she knew.
But they had allowed silence to live between them.
It was easier.
Until now.
Naen lowered her voice.
“Are we going to do this every morning?”
“If necessary.”
“No.”
Roman’s expression became colder.
“That wasn’t a question.”
“And this isn’t your warehouse floor.”
Naen stepped closer.
“I’m not one of your men.”
Employees nearby suddenly became fascinated with their computer screens.
Victor took his coffee and disappeared.
Coward.
Roman’s jaw flexed.
“You are under my protection.”
“I’m your employee.”
“You’re more than that.”
“Then treat me like more than that.”
Silence.
Naen could feel every person in reception pretending not to listen.
She picked up the folder Roman had placed on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“A property transfer.”
“To whom?”
“You.”
Naen looked up.
Roman remained perfectly still.
She opened the folder.
The address on the first page was familiar.
Painfully familiar.
Her apartment building.
Naen stared at him.
“What did you do?”
“Transferred ownership.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
Her voice dropped.
“You bought my building and now you’re giving it to me?”
“I told you I bought it weeks ago.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Naen closed the folder.
“This.”
She pushed it back.
“Whatever this is.”
Roman looked down.
“A deed.”
“Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m answering the question.”
“You know what I mean.”
Naen folded her arms.
“You gave me a job. Fine. I work for the salary.”
“I know.”
“You upgraded the security in the building.”
“It was necessary.”
“You paid for a private pediatrician when Leo got sick last week.”
“He needed a doctor.”
“I could have paid.”
“You were working.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Roman stepped closer.
“What is the point, Naen?”
“The point is that every time you care about someone, you buy the problem.”
Something flashed behind his eyes.
She continued.
“You buy buildings.”
“Security.”
“Cars.”
“Doctors.”
“You throw money around until nothing can hurt the people you care about.”
Roman’s voice went quiet.
“It works.”
“No.”
Naen shook her head.
“It controls.”
The word landed.
Hard.
Roman’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Something older.
Naen saw it.
“You don’t know the difference, do you?”
He turned away.
That answered her.
Naen softened.
“Roman.”
“I have a meeting.”
He walked toward his office.
Naen followed.
“Roman.”
The door closed behind them.
He placed both hands on his desk.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then:
“My father owned nothing.”
Naen stopped.
Roman rarely spoke about himself.
Almost never about family.
“He worked the docks.”
Roman stared through the windows toward the rail yard.
“He unloaded containers twelve hours a day.”
“My mother cleaned offices at night.”
“When I was eleven, my father borrowed money from the wrong people.”
Roman’s voice remained emotionless.
That made the story worse.
“He couldn’t repay it.”
“They broke his legs.”
Naen said nothing.
“My mother sold everything.”
“Wedding ring.”
“Furniture.”
“Her mother’s jewelry.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
Roman looked down at his hands.
“When I was thirteen, they came again.”
“This time they killed him.”
Naen’s chest tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
Roman ignored the words.
“I learned something.”
He looked at her.
“If you own the building, no landlord removes you.”
“If you own the company, no manager fires you.”
“If you own the street, nobody corners you.”
“If you have enough money, nobody gets to decide whether your child gets medicine.”
Naen understood.
For the first time, she understood Roman’s obsession with ownership.
His empire was not greed.
Not entirely.
It was terror turned into architecture.
A terrified thirteen-year-old boy had spent his entire adult life buying enough walls to make himself untouchable.
Naen moved closer.
“And if you own the people?”
Roman’s face tightened.
“I don’t own you.”
“Then stop trying.”
Silence.
She touched his hand.
“You can protect me.”
Her fingers threaded through his.
“But you have to let me live.”
Roman looked down at their hands.
After several seconds, he nodded.
Once.
It was not agreement.
It was surrender.
For Roman Caldwell, that was more significant.
Naen smiled.
“Good.”
She reached for the deed.
“And I’m not taking the building.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“It’s already transferred.”
“Transfer it back.”
“No.”
“Roman.”
“No.”
Naen stared.
Roman stared back.
Then she sighed.
“Fine.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“I’ll manage it.”
“What?”
“You want me to own the building?”
Naen opened the folder.
“Then we’re fixing it.”
Roman looked suspicious.
“Fixing what?”
“Everything.”
By noon, Naen had produced a spreadsheet.
Roof replacement.
Boiler repairs.
Mold remediation.
New windows.
Elevator inspection.
Electrical upgrades.
A laundry room that did not require coins.
Roman looked at the projected cost.
“Two hundred and thirty thousand dollars?”
“You gave me a broken building.”
“It isn’t broken.”
“Mrs. Higgins catches rainwater in a cooking pot every time it storms.”
Roman stared.
Naen pointed at the spreadsheet.
“You wanted me to own it.”
A slow smile appeared.
“Fine.”
“You’re paying half.”
The smile disappeared.
“What?”
“I’m paying half from the building’s rent revenue.”
“You’ll be losing money for years.”
“Yes.”
Roman looked almost offended.
“That is a terrible investment.”
“It’s called being a decent landlord.”
“I’m beginning to regret giving you property.”
“Good.”
Naen smiled.
“That means I’m doing it correctly.”
The moment was interrupted by the office door opening.
Victor entered.
He was not carrying coffee anymore.
His expression changed the temperature of the room.
Roman straightened.
“What?”
Victor closed the door.
“We have a problem.”
Roman’s face emptied.
Businessman vanished.
Boss returned.
“What kind?”
Victor placed a photograph on the desk.
Naen looked.
A man stood outside Leo’s elementary school.
Tall.
Gray coat.
Baseball cap pulled low.
Nothing unusual.
Except the camera had captured his face clearly.
Roman went completely still.
“Who is he?”
Naen asked.
Victor answered.
“Michael Vance.”
Roman’s eyes remained on the photograph.
Naen looked between them.
“Should I know that name?”
Roman spoke.
“No.”
Victor disagreed.
“She needs to.”
Roman looked at him.
The two men communicated silently.
Victor won.
“He used to work for Roman’s father.”
Naen’s stomach tightened.
“Used to?”
Victor nodded.
“He disappeared seventeen years ago.”
Roman picked up the photograph.
“He was the man who collected my father’s debt.”
Naen stopped breathing.
Roman’s voice became ice.
“The man who broke his legs.”
Another photograph slid across the desk.
Vance.
Standing across the street from Naen’s apartment.
A third.
Vance beside Apex Freight.
A fourth.
Leo climbing into Mrs. Higgins’s car.
Naen’s blood turned cold.
“He’s been watching my son.”
Roman’s eyes lifted.
There was nothing human in them now.
“Not anymore.”
Naen grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
Roman looked at her hand.
Then her face.
“You don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her fingers tightened.
“And you’re going to think first.”
Victor stepped toward the window.
He clearly wanted no part of the argument.
Roman’s voice dropped.
“That man murdered my father.”
“He watched Leo.”
Naen held his gaze.
“I want him stopped as much as you do.”
“Then let me stop him.”
“No.”
She pointed toward the photographs.
“He wants you angry.”
Roman paused.
Naen saw recognition.
“He wants you reacting.”
She continued.
“He could have approached Leo.”
“He didn’t.”
“He could have approached me.”
“He didn’t.”
“He made sure your cameras saw him.”
Roman looked at the images again.
Victor turned.
“She’s right.”
Roman’s stare snapped toward him.
Victor shrugged.
“Sorry.”
Naen leaned over the desk.
“This isn’t surveillance.”
“It’s an invitation.”
Roman’s jaw hardened.
“To what?”
Naen looked at the photograph.
Michael Vance was staring almost directly toward the camera.
A faint smile touched his face.
“He wants you to come looking for him.”
Roman stared at the picture.
Then the office telephone rang.
All three of them looked at it.
Naen slowly picked up.
“Apex Freight.”
Silence.
Then a man laughed softly.
Older.
Calm.
“Is Roman there?”
Naen’s hand tightened around the receiver.
“Who is this?”
“You already know.”
Roman reached for the phone.
Naen moved it away.
“What do you want?”
Another quiet laugh.
“I wanted to meet the woman who taught Roman Caldwell to care about something.”
Naen’s stomach twisted.
Roman’s face became murderous.
Vance continued.
“Tell him I’m impressed.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“I intend to.”
A pause.
“Soon.”
The line went dead.
Naen slowly lowered the receiver.
Roman was already reaching for his coat.
“Where are you going?”
“To end this.”
Naen stepped between him and the door.
“No.”
“Move.”
“No.”
His gray eyes burned.
“Naen.”
“You spent twenty years building a fortress.”
She pressed both hands against his chest.
“Don’t run outside because someone knocked on the gate.”
Roman stared down at her.
For several seconds, rage fought reason.
Finally he stopped.
Victor exhaled.
Naen turned toward him.
“Double Leo’s security.”
“Already done.”
“Mrs. Higgins?”
“Covered.”
“My building?”
“Two men outside. Two inside.”
Naen nodded.
Then she looked at Roman.
“And we find out what Vance actually wants.”
Roman’s hands closed around her waist.
His voice was almost a whisper.
“If he touches Leo—”
“He won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No.”
Naen looked into his eyes.
“But neither can you.”
That truth hurt him.
She saw it.
“So we do this together.”
Roman’s forehead touched hers.
“You should hate this life.”
“Sometimes I do.”
The answer surprised him.
Naen did not soften it.
“I hate the guns.”
“I hate having men follow me.”
“I hate knowing people disappear because they crossed you.”
Her voice became quieter.
“But I don’t hate you.”
Roman’s eyes closed.
Naen touched his face.
“And that’s why you don’t get to become stupid every time you’re afraid.”
His mouth almost smiled.
“I am never afraid.”
“Of course not.”
She kissed him once.
“Terrified men always say that.”
Victor coughed loudly from across the room.
Naen turned.
“What?”
Victor held another photograph.
“This came five minutes ago.”
Roman took it.
His face changed.
Naen looked over his shoulder.
The photograph showed an old brick house.
A boy stood on the front steps.
Dark hair.
Thin shoulders.
Gray eyes.
Roman.
Maybe thirteen years old.
Written across the bottom in black ink were six words.
YOUR FATHER OWED MORE THAN MONEY.
Naen looked at Roman.
For the first time since she had met him, the most dangerous man in the city looked genuinely shaken.
And Naen understood.
May you like
Michael Vance had not returned for money.
He had returned for Roman’s past.
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