Chapter 2 - THE NAME SHE SHOULD NEVER HAVE GOOGLED
By the time Celia reached her apartment, the rain had soaked through both layers of her coat.
Her keys slipped from her fingers twice.
Inside, she locked the door, fastened the chain, and checked the windows.
Then she did what she always did after seeing Travis.
She stood in the middle of her living room and listened.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No movement outside.
Only the refrigerator humming beside the kitchen counter.
She exhaled.
Then remembered the business card.
Lorenzo Duca.
She placed it beside her laptop.
For nearly twenty minutes, she resisted the temptation to search his name.
Finally, she opened a browser.
The first result made her sit straighter.
LORENZO DUCA: CHICAGO BUSINESSMAN LINKED TO ORGANIZED CRIME INVESTIGATION.
The second result was worse.
FEDERAL AUTHORITIES INVESTIGATE DUCA FAMILY SHIPPING EMPIRE.
The third showed a photograph.
Lorenzo standing outside a courthouse.
Same gray eyes.
Same scar.
Same expression that suggested he had already considered every possible outcome.
Celia stared.
“Oh, fantastic.”
She had nearly been killed by her abusive ex-boyfriend.
Then rescued by a man the newspapers called a mafia boss.
She closed the laptop.
Opened it again.
Read another article.
The Duca family controlled freight terminals, restaurants, commercial properties, and several private security companies.
Investigators suspected their legitimate businesses concealed a criminal organization.
No major conviction had ever reached Lorenzo personally.
That fact did not comfort her.
Celia picked up his card.
Why had he given her his number?
Why had he been standing at that intersection?
And why had Travis looked as though he recognized him?
***
At 11:18 p.m., Celia's phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She stared.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice.
“You made it home.”
Her blood went cold.
“Travis?”
Silence.
Then:
“You shouldn't let strangers interfere in our relationship.”
Celia closed her eyes.
“We don't have a relationship.”
“You embarrassed me.”
She looked toward the door.
“Don't call me again.”
“Who was that man?”
“None of your business.”
Travis laughed softly.
“You think he's going to protect you?”
Celia said nothing.
His voice lowered.
“You have no idea who you're dealing with.”
The call ended.
Celia stared at the phone.
Then looked at Lorenzo's card.
For a long moment, she considered calling.
Instead, she photographed the call record and added it to the folder she'd been keeping for seven months.
Screenshots.
Messages.
Dates.
Locations.
Every incident she could document.
Then she called the police nonemergency line to supplement her existing report.
She was tired of pretending silence would make Travis disappear.
***
The next morning, Celia arrived at work with a headache and three hours of sleep.
She was a senior case coordinator at the Halstead Community Legal Center, a nonprofit that helped tenants facing eviction, wage theft, and unlawful housing practices.
She loved the work.
Most days.
She loved helping people who had been told nobody would listen.
She loved finding the document that changed a case.
She loved the moment a client realized the law could belong to them too.
But lately, the job had become another place where she waited for Travis to appear.
Her supervisor, Marissa Bell, called her into the office.
“Close the door.”
Celia obeyed.
Marissa was fifty-three, practical, and capable of intimidating attorneys twice her salary.
She studied Celia.
“You look exhausted.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
“I guessed.”
Marissa folded her hands.
“Security told me someone was waiting outside yesterday.”
Celia's stomach tightened.
“Travis.”
Marissa nodded.
“He asked what time you left.”
Celia stared.
“Did they tell him?”
“No.”
Relief moved through her.
Then Marissa continued.
“But he claimed to be your husband.”
Celia closed her eyes.
“We were never married.”
“I know.”
Marissa leaned forward.
“Celia, this has escalated.”
“I know.”
“Have you contacted an attorney about a protective order?”
Celia looked down.
“I started.”
“Finish.”
She nodded.
Marissa softened.
“You spend your days helping strangers protect themselves. You deserve the same help.”
Celia swallowed.
“Okay.”
***
At noon, a courier delivered a package.
No return address.
Inside was a small silver bracelet.
Celia recognized it immediately.
Travis had given it to her on their first anniversary.
She had left it in a box at his apartment when she moved out.
Beneath it lay a folded note.
YOU FORGOT SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME.
Celia felt sick.
Marissa read the note.
Then picked up the office phone.
“We're preserving this.”
Celia nodded.
Her hands shook.
Marissa looked at her.
“Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”
Celia hesitated.
Then remembered the card.
Lorenzo Duca.
She almost laughed at the absurdity.
The safest person she'd met in weeks might also be one of Chicago's most dangerous men.
***
That evening, Celia left work through the rear entrance with a coworker.
She took a cab to her friend Naomi's apartment.
Naomi opened the door wearing pajamas and holding a bowl of cereal.
“You look like you've been chased by wolves.”
“Close.”
Celia told her everything.
The intersection.
The stranger.
The card.
The articles.
Naomi listened.
Then said:
“You got rescued by Lorenzo Duca?”
Celia nodded.
Naomi put down the cereal.
“Celia.”
“I know.”
“That's not a normal Tuesday.”
“I know.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“Did he threaten Travis?”
“He told him to walk away.”
“That's it?”
“Yes.”
Naomi considered.
“Somehow that's scarier.”
Celia laughed despite herself.
Then her phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
A photograph.
Naomi's apartment building.
Taken from across the street.
Below it:
YOU CAN'T HIDE FOREVER.
Celia's laughter died.
Naomi looked at the screen.
Then at Celia.
“Call someone.”
Celia stared at Lorenzo's card.
For the first time, she understood that refusing help wasn't necessarily independence.
Sometimes it was fear disguised as control.
She dialed.
The call connected after one ring.
A deep voice answered.
“Duca.”
Celia swallowed.
“It's Celia Vaughn.”
A pause.
Then:
“Where are you?”
She looked toward the window.
May you like
And whispered:
“I think he's outside.”
