Chapter 3 - Highway of Ghosts and the Black SUV in My Rearview Mirror
The midnight rain turned the Pennsylvania turnpike into a mirror of black ice. I drove the nondescript silver Subaru Sofia provided, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Every pair of headlights that flared behind me felt like Roman’s vengeful gaze cutting through the darkness.
“He tore the study apart with his bare hands.”
Sofia’s words echoed in my mind alongside the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers. I pictured Roman—his tailored suit discarded, his dark eyes ablaze with fury, staring down at my wedding ring abandoned on the silk sheets. He had given me everything a woman could dream of: priceless jewelry, custom estates, private jets, and an unquestioned status as queen of his empire.
Yet beneath all the luxury lay a foundation of violence. I had seen the bloodstains hastily scrubbed from his cuffs; I had heard the muffled gunshots echoing from the estate docks at midnight. I could not raise an innocent soul in a house where morality was bought with bullets.
By dawn, the flat farmlands of Pennsylvania gave way to the rolling hills of Connecticut, and by noon, the salt air of New England seeped through the vents. Morning sickness struck with savage fury. I was forced to pull over at a desolate rest stop, heaving dryly into a trash can while clinging to the cold brick wall.
As I splashed cold water on my face in the grimy restroom, I stared into the mirror. The glamorous Mrs. Evelyn Carter—the woman adorned in Cartier and silk—was gone. In her place stood Clara Thomas: pale, hollow-eyed, wearing an oversized knit sweater, her blonde hair tucked beneath a woolen beanie.
When I stepped back into the parking lot, my heart stopped.
Parked three spaces down from my Subaru was a black Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows and New York plates. A man in a dark charcoal overcoat was leaning against the hood, lighting a cigarette, his cold eyes methodically surveying every person exiting the building.
Bennett’s enforcers.
They hadn't bought Sofia’s diversion completely. They were checking every northern artery.
Keeping my head down, I walked with deliberate slowness toward my car. The wind whipped freezing mist across my face. I unlocked the driver’s door, praying the engine wouldn't sputter.
“Excuse me, miss!” a rough voice called out.
I didn't turn around. I slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and locked it instantly. Through the side mirror, I saw the man flick his cigarette aside and take two long strides toward my window.
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I jammed the key into the ignition, slammed the car into reverse, and tore out of the parking space. The man reached inside his coat, his hand reaching for iron, but the sudden roar of a semi-truck pulling into the rest stop blocked his path.
I hit the highway ramp at eighty miles per hour, my hands shaking so badly the car swerved. He had seen my plates. They were hunting me. I had to disappear completely before the web tightened around my throat.
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