Page 1 of Blackwood

Prologue

New York City – Twenty and a half years ago

October in New York City arrived with a sharp bite. Gray skies hung low over the rain-slicked pavement. The streets shimmered with reflections of red lights and taxi headlights, distorted by puddles and shadow. Trees lining the sidewalks wore their final blaze of glory, leaves in hues of crimson, amber, and gold clinging desperately to branches before the storm swept them away.

Inside the hospital, the storm outside mirrored the one unfolding within. The rain hammered the windows like fists, relentless and impatient, as if demanding to be let in.

Raina screamed, her voice cracking against the walls as her body convulsed. The overhead lights were too bright, buzzing faintly, drowning her in heat and pain and panic. Sweat plastered onyx strands to her pale face. Latex and bleach burned her nose, clashing with the iron of blood on her tongue. Every breath tasted like metal.

She clenched the white linen sheets, now stained a coppery tinge. Her nails tore at the fabric, desperate to anchor herself to something, anything, as her body quickly betrayed her.

Her chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, her ribs aching, her heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out. A sobclawed up her throat, but she swallowed it. There was no room for weakness right now.

Though there was no time for fear, it still crept in. Fear of the shadow still chasing her. Fear of the man who haunted her every step. Fear that her baby girl, the one person she had left to love, would be swallowed by the world she’d risked everything to escape.

“Contractions are worsening. We’re losing her!” someone shouted.

She didn’t see their faces. Just shifting shapes in bluish-green scrubs like ghosts moving through the blinding white haze. Voices overlapped in a frantic chorus, muffled by the screaming inside her head.

Pain pulsed through her in brutal waves. Each one carving her open from the inside out. She couldn’t feel her legs. Couldn’t remember what air tasted like. Her body was no longer hers. It was an aching battlefield, a dying vessel with one final purpose: to bring her daughter into the world.

Tears slid sideways, mixing with sweat and unearned grief. She was slipping. She could feel it. Feel her heartbeat skipping, her lungs catching. Death was waiting just beyond the next contraction.

But she couldn’t go yet. Not until Isabella was safe. Not until she was free. A hand touched hers, grounding her.

She heard a woman’s voice, low and urgent.

“Raina. Look at me, sweetheart.”

She blinked through the blur. A face swam into focus. Auburn hair pulled back in a loose bun, hazel eyes sharp with urgency and soft with fear. Calm. Fierce. Terrified.

Dr. Claire Donnelly.

“She’s coming,” Claire said. “We need to move fast.”

“Please,” Raina rasped, her Italian accent breaking through cracked lips before her voice caught. “My baby,” a sharp screech of pain, “ Isabella… you have to get her out.”

Claire nodded, misunderstanding the urgency. “We’re trying, Raina. We’re going to get the baby out. Just hang on.”

But Raina shook her head weakly, tears streaking her face. “No… not just out of me. Out of here. Out of this city. He can’t ever find her.”

Her eyes were glassy now, panic overtaking the pain, wild and unfocused. “He’s still looking,” she choked out, her fingers tightening in Claire’s grasp. “He’ll never stop. He won’t rest until he finds her. You don’t know what he’s capable of. What he’s already done.” Her voice cracked, hysteria edging in. “Please… please, promise me. You must save her. You must keep her hidden. Don’t let him take her.”

“Who is he, Raina?” Claire asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Who are you so afraid of?”

Raina’s lips trembled. She beckoned Claire closer with a weak flick of her fingers, her breath rattling. When Claire leaned in, Raina pressed her mouth to her ear, her voice a ghost.

“He’s the devil in a silk suit,” she breathed. “He doesn’t forgive. He doesn’t forget. If he finds her, please don’t let him find her.”

Then, with what little strength she had, Raina whispered his name into Claire’s ear, a name soaked in fear and blood. Claire’s eyes went wide. She knew that name. Knew the stories. Her husband had spoken of him in hushed tones over late-night whiskey and case files half-hidden under their kitchen table. A man who moved in shadows and bought silence with blood. A man who could not be outrun.

“I swear,” she whispered. “I’ll protect her.”

Raina’s lips moved into the faintest smile, and for a second, she looked at peace. Not just like a woman dying, but like a girlwho once danced beneath club lights, full of dreams she was never allowed to keep.

Slowly, the light faded behind her eyes. The machines screamed. The silence that followed was louder than death itself. Those few seconds lasting a lifetime until finally, another sound.

A cry.