"Rain, blood, and forty-five stolen minutes were all it took to destroy the only job keeping my five-year-old son and me afloat. I stopped in a filthy Chicago alley to save a stranger from bleeding to death, and less than two hours later my manager threw my final paycheck onto the floor—without knowing the man I had saved owned the building beneath his feet."

When Marcus parked the Maybach directly in the yellow fire lane, two local police cruisers parked across the street immediately flickered their headlights. Before an officer could even unbuckle his seatbelt, Marcus flashed a small, gold-embossed leather badge through the tinted window. The cruisers blinked their lights twice in quiet acknowledgment and pulled away.

I watched from the passenger seat, my eyes wide. "What was that badge?"

"Federal transportation clearance," Roman said smoothly, stepping out of the car and opening my door before I could reach for the handle. He offered me a dry umbrella, holding it over my head as we walked through the automatic sliding doors into the bright warmth of the store. "In my line of work, bureaucratic friction is something we prefer to eliminate before it begins."

Within three minutes, the head pharmacist—a nervous-looking middle-aged man who looked like he had been woken up from a deep sleep—was handing over a pristine white paper bag containing the exact antibiotic drops Leo needed, along with a digital forehead thermometer and a box of electrolyte solution.

When I reached for my worn leather wallet to pay, Roman gently placed his hand over mine. The touch was warm, firm, and sent an electric shiver straight up my arm.

"Put your money away, Megan," he said quietly.

"Roman, please, I can at least—"

"If you argue with me over twenty-four dollars worth of children's medicine, I'm going to start questioning your business acumen," he teased lightly, handing the pharmacist a black titanium card that didn't even have a chip visible on its surface.

We walked back out to the Maybach, the rain finally tapering off into a heavy, lingering mist that cast long halos around the streetlamps.

As Marcus navigated the quiet residential streets of the North Side toward my apartment building, the atmosphere inside the car shifted. The warm, domestic distraction of the pharmacy visit evaporated, replaced by the heavy, silent tension that seemed to follow Roman wherever he went.

I noticed Marcus checking the rearview mirror for the fourth time in two minutes. His posture had stiffened, his right hand resting casually inside his jacket near his shoulder holster.

"Marcus?" Roman asked without turning his head.

"We've got a tail, boss," Marcus replied quietly, his voice dropping into a professional monotone. "A dark gray Ford Explorer picked us up three blocks back on Diversey. No plates, tinted windows, hanging back two car lengths. Same vehicle model that was spotted near the warehouse district yesterday."

My heart gave a violent lurch. "A tail? You mean... someone is following us?"

Roman didn't panic. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply turned his head and looked out the rear windshield, watching the anonymous gray SUV trailing us through the wet Chicago night.

"They're not here for a social visit," Roman said calmly, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. "Whoever stabbed me in that alley didn't finish the job. And they've been tracking my movements since I left the safehouse this afternoon."

Fear, cold and sharp, clawed its way back up my throat. "If they're following us, and you're with me... we need to go to the police station! We need help!"

"The police won't help us here, Megan," Roman said, turning to look at me, his expression softening just enough to reassure me. "Not because they're corrupt, but because the men hunting me operate in a world where local law enforcement is simply too slow to survive. But I promise you one thing—nothing is going to happen to you or your son."

Marcus suddenly slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The V12 engine of the Maybach roared to life, throwing us back against our leather seats as the heavy vehicle surged forward, cutting sharply down a narrow side street to shake the tail.

"Hold on," Marcus warned.