Chapter 4 - BLOOD ON THE MARBLE
The clock on the wall of my lavish guest suite read 3:14 AM.
I sat cross-legged on a velvet sofa, surrounded by hundreds of printed mugshots and employee files spread across the mahogany coffee table. I had scrubbed the gala's sweat from my skin in a marble shower larger than my entire Queens apartment, and I was now wearing a comfortable oversized cashmere sweater that one of the maids had brought me.
My fingers flipped through the files. "No... not him... too old... wrong jawline..."
A soft click sounded at the heavy double doors.
Victor entered without knocking. He had changed into dark trousers and a simple black long-sleeve shirt, holding two porcelain mugs of black coffee. The bruise on his jaw from my punch was turning a deep shade of purple, giving his ruthless features an even more dangerous edge.
"Drink," he said, setting one of the mugs before me. "You've been staring at those faces for three hours."
"I don't need your coffee, Romano," I said dryly, though my exhaustion made my eyes burn.
"It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about," he said, taking a sip from his own cup and sitting on the edge of the table opposite me. "Though after tonight, I wouldn't blame you for testing every liquid you encounter."
I hesitated, then picked up the mug. The warm brew was rich and bitter, cutting through my headache.
"Why did you do it, Lena?" Victor asked quietly, his eyes boring into mine. "You knew who I was. You knew what happens to people who touch a Romano. You could have run away, pretended you didn't see anything, and gone home to your family."
I set the mug down and looked him in the eye. "Because my father died in an emergency room while four doctors walked past him because we didn't have insurance. I spent my whole life watching powerful people let innocent people die without lifting a finger. I couldn't just stand there and watch a man be murdered in cold blood. Even a man like you."
Victor’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second—a fleeting crack in his impenetrable armor. "A man like me? You think I'm a monster."
"You're a mafia boss, Victor. You run this city with extortion and fear."
"I run this city with order," Victor corrected coldly. "Without the Romano family, the Russian cartels and the Albanian traffickers would turn Manhattan into a warzone. I keep the peace by being more ruthless than the wolves at the gate."
I scoffed, flipping another page of the file. Suddenly, my fingers froze.
My heart thudded against my ribs.
On the glossy page was a picture of a man with sunken cheeks, a faded scar above his left eyebrow, and cold, pale eyes.
"It's him," I whispered, pointing to the photograph. "That's the server. He had a fake badge that said 'David', but his name here is Vance Miller."
Victor stood up instantly, his entire demeanor shifting into lethal focus. He leaned over the table, examining the file. "Vance Miller. Former Blackwater contractor. Dishonorably discharged five years ago."
He reached for his radio. "Marco. I have an ID. Vance Miller. Track his cell signal, his burner cards, and—"
Before Victor could finish his sentence, the shatter of heavy glass erupted from the hallway below, followed by the deafening chatter of automatic gunfire.
"Down!" Victor roared.
He tackled me off the sofa, throwing his heavy frame over my body just as a hail of high-caliber bullets shredded through the French doors of my balcony. Mirrors shattered, plaster rained down like white snow, and the air filled with the deafening roar of assault rifles and the smell of sulfur.
Victor rolled off me, pulling a customized matte-black Desert Eagle from a hidden holster behind his back.
"Stay behind the desk!" he commanded, his voice steady as steel despite the chaos. "Marco! Report!"
Static hissed through the radio before Marco's panicked voice broke through: "Boss! They breached the south perimeter! It's a kill squad! At least twelve heavily armed mercenaries! They cut the main power!"
The lights died. The estate plunged into pitch-black darkness, illuminated only by the rhythmic flashes of muzzle fire from the courtyard below.
Heavy bootsteps echoed in the corridor outside my bedroom door.
Victor dragged me behind a heavy marble pillar near the doorway. He reached out in the dark, his hand finding mine. His grip was scorching hot, his fingers lacing tightly through mine.
May you like
"Trust me, Lena," he whispered against my ear, his breath warm against my neck. "I promised you that no one touches you under my roof. And I never break a promise."
The double doors were kicked off their hinges with a violent crash.
