Chapter 6 - The Ambush at the Estate
While Trevor was hiding behind dumpsters in the industrial district, peace had settled over the Vance estate in Lincoln Park.
The three-acre estate was enclosed by twelve-foot stone walls and mature oak trees that blocked out the city noise. Inside the main greenhouse—a glass conservatory filled with rare orchids, jasmine, and heated marble walkways—Sadi sat at a wrought-iron table, sipping a cup of chamomile tea.
She wore a simple cream linen dress, her dark hair pinned loosely behind her ears.
Opposite her sat Roman, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, reviewing shipping manifests on a tablet while his hand rested casually on the table, inches from hers.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Roman said softly without looking up from his screen.
Sadi swirled the tea in her porcelain cup. “I was just thinking about how fast everything changes.”
“Life is very simple, Sadi,” Roman said, setting his tablet down. He reached across the table and took her small hand in his large, warm palm. “People pretend it is complex so they can justify their failures. But it comes down to two things: force and loyalty. Trevor had neither.”
Before Sadi could reply, the radio on Arthur’s belt—who was standing near the entrance of the greenhouse—clicked twice.
Arthur listened to the static-heavy transmission for three seconds before his posture went rigid.
“Boss,” Arthur said quietly.
Roman didn't flinch. He didn't even drop Sadi’s hand. “Report.”
“A convoy of three unregistered vehicles just breached the outer gate on Michigan Avenue,” Arthur said, his voice entirely flat. “It’s the Moretti crew. They think you’re short-staffed tonight because of the dock handover.”
Sadi felt a cold chill run down her spine, but she didn't scream. She had lived with Roman long enough to know that a security breach at the Vance estate was not a disaster; it was a trap Roman had likely laid weeks ago.
Roman took a slow sip of his espresso.
“How many?” Roman asked.
“Fourteen,” Arthur replied, pulling a heavy black sidearm from beneath his jacket with a smooth, practiced motion. “They brought automatic rifles.”
“They are very noisy people,” Roman remarked dryly. He stood up, smoothing the front of his turtleneck. He turned to Sadi, reaching out to gently touch her cheek. “Stay in the greenhouse, carina. The glass is bulletproof. Arthur will stay with you.”
“Roman,” Sadi said, her hand catching his sleeve. “Be careful.”
Roman looked down at her hand on his sleeve, a faint, dark smile gracing his features. “They came into my home, Sadi. Care is for the guests.”
He turned and walked out of the glass doors into the courtyard, the rain instantly catching his dark hair.
Five minutes later, the perimeter garden exploded into violence.
The sound of suppressed gunfire—short, controlled bursts of three rounds each—echoed through the night air. There were no shouts, no dramatic cinematic speeches. There was only the clinical, terrifying efficiency of Roman’s security team executing a defensive sweep.
Inside the greenhouse, Sadi watched through the rain-streaked, reinforced glass.
In the floodlights illuminating the main lawn, she saw Roman moving through the shadows. He didn't run. He didn't duck. He walked with the terrifying composure of a storm, his silenced pistol firing twice into the darkness every time an intruder stepped into the light.
Within four minutes, the gunfire died away completely.
The heavy iron gates of the courtyard swung open, and three black vans belonging to Roman’s cleanup team rolled onto the wet driveway.
Arthur checked his radio, then nodded to Sadi. “It’s clear, ma’am.”
Sadi walked out of the greenhouse onto the wet stone patio. The air smelled of wet earth, copper, and cordite.
At the center of the driveway, standing beside the wreckage of the intruders’ lead SUV, was Roman. He was holding a man by the back of his neck—a bloody, battered enforcer who was sobbing frantically for mercy.
Beside them, thrown like a sack of wet flour onto the pavement, was Trevor Sterling.
Sadi stopped in her tracks.
Trevor was covered in mud, his face bruised from where Tommy Russo’s men had dragged him through the streets before Roman’s team intercepted them at the docks. He lay on the cold stone, shivering violently, staring up at Roman with eyes so filled with terror that he looked barely human.
“Sadi!” Trevor choked out, seeing her step into the light. He tried to crawl toward her, his muddy hands scraping against the wet stone. “Sadi, please! Save me! They were going to kill me! Tell him to let me go! Please!”
Roman stepped over the fallen enforcer, resting the heel of his leather boot gently on the small of Trevor’s back, pressing him flat against the wet pavement.
He didn't look at Trevor. He looked at Sadi.
“He was hiding in the cargo van they used to breach the gate,” Roman explained smoothly. “He thought if he helped Moretti’s men navigate the estate layout, they would spare his life.”
Trevor wept hysterically, his face pressed into a puddle of rainwater. “I didn't have a choice! They forced me! Sadi, you know me! You know I’m not a bad person!”
Sadi walked slowly down the stone steps.
She stood two feet away from Trevor, looking down at the man who had once kicked her to the floor of a luxury store, the man who had called her an anchor, a pathetic mouse, a stain on the marble.
She felt no anger. She felt no desire for violence.
May you like
She felt only an incredible, liberating lightness—as if a heavy iron chains that had been wrapped around her ankles for three long years had finally snapped and fallen away into the dirt.
“I do know you, Trevor,” Sadi said softly, her voice carrying clearly over the sound of the rain. “You’re a coward. And you always have been.”
