Chapter 2 - The Man With the Wolf Tattoo
Nine minutes later, the street filled with black vehicles.
Not police cars.
Not ambulances.
Black Range Rovers.
Five of them.
They stopped almost simultaneously.
Doors opened.
Men in dark coats stepped onto the pavement.
Then the rear door of the middle vehicle opened.
Roman DeLuca emerged.
I had seen photographs of him before.
They hadn't captured him correctly.
He was forty-one, tall and powerfully built, with black hair brushed away from his face and a trace of silver near his temples.
A charcoal overcoat covered a black suit.
Dark tattoos climbed above his collar and crossed the backs of both hands.
A silver wolf was inked across his right hand.
The same wolf on Leo's bracelet.
Roman looked at the wrecked Cadillac.
Then at his son.
Everything about him changed.
“Leo.”
Leo ran.
Roman dropped to one knee and caught him.
His men looked away.
I understood why.
For perhaps ten seconds, Philadelphia's most feared crime boss wasn't a crime boss.
He was a terrified father checking his child's face, hands, shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Where's Anthony?”
“I don't know.”
Roman froze.
“Anthony was driving?”
Leo nodded.
“He stopped under the bridge. Somebody came to the window. Anthony told me to stay down.”
Roman slowly looked toward the Cadillac.
This hadn't been an accident.
His expression became unreadable.
Then Leo pointed at me.
“She saved me.”
Roman stood.
His eyes settled on my torn coat and bleeding palm.
“You went inside that car?”
“Yes.”
“It was burning.”
“I noticed.”
One of his men glanced at me.
Roman stepped closer.
“You could have died.”
“So could he.”
Again, that strange silence.
Apparently nobody enjoyed contradicting Roman DeLuca.
Leo tugged his father's sleeve.
“She broke the window.”
Roman looked at my hand.
“You need a doctor.”
“I need my bed.”
“You're coming with us.”
“No.”
His eyebrows moved slightly.
“No?”
“I don't get into cars with strangers.”
Roman stared at me.
“You climbed into a burning Cadillac.”
“The Cadillac wasn't trying to kidnap me.”
One of his men coughed to hide a laugh.
Roman slowly turned his head.
The man immediately became fascinated by the pavement.
Then Roman looked back at me.
“You're not being kidnapped.”
“Excellent. Then I'll leave.”
I turned.
And nearly collapsed.
Roman caught my arm.
My knees hit his coat instead of the pavement.
The adrenaline was disappearing.
Unfortunately, so was my ability to stand.
Leo appeared beside me.
“Dad?”
Roman lifted me before I could protest.
“Put me down.”
“No.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
That was how Evelyn Carter—
twenty-nine years old,
bakery cashier,
three months behind on rent—
May you like
ended up being carried into the armored Range Rover of Roman DeLuca.
---
