Chapter 4 - The Poison in the Citadel
I couldn't stay in that room.
The moment Roman’s heavy footsteps faded down the grand corridor, the silence in the suite became unbearable. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a countdown timer to a bomb.
I walked over to the heavy oak door. I turned the brass handle, expecting it to be locked tight.
It clicked open.
Elena had been called away to reinforce the study. In the chaos of Miles Vance’s arrival with twenty armed men, someone had forgotten to reset the electronic lock.
I slipped out into the dim hallway, my heart pounding in my throat.
The estate was eerily quiet, but from the main floor below, I could hear the faint, low murmur of men’s voices. I crept along the balcony railing, keeping low to the dark wood shadows, until I could look down into the grand two-story library.
Standing near the massive stone fireplace was Roman Duca. He was pouring two glasses of scotch from a crystal decanter.
Standing opposite him was Miles Vance.
Up close, Miles looked entirely composed. He was a silver-haired man in his late forties, wearing a thousand-dollar tailored gray suit. His hands were clasped respectfully behind his back, his expression brimming with feigned concern.
“Roman, you should have called me the second you left Bellamore’s,” Miles was saying, his tone rich with artificial loyalty. “My men could have swept the street. The Irish factions in the South End have been restless all week. If they touched Ethan—”
“Ethan isn't dead, Miles,” Roman interrupted smoothly, handing one of the heavy crystal glasses to his lieutenant.
Miles froze mid-reach. His hand hovered in the air for a fraction of a second—just long enough for anyone watching closely to see his fingers twitch.
“He isn't?” Miles asked, his voice pitching slightly higher before he caught himself. “That’s… that’s a miracle, Don. Where is he? Which hospital? I’ll send a full security detachment right now—”
“He’s upstairs,” Roman said softly, taking a slow sip of his amber liquor. “In our private trauma bay.”
Miles swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. “Can I see him? I want to make sure the boy is safe.”
“He’s unconscious,” Roman replied, stepping closer to Miles. The physical disparity between the two men was terrifying; Roman towered over his underboss like an executioner standing over a condemned man. “The doctor said he lost a lot of blood. But before he passed out… he managed to say three words to me.”
The atmosphere in the library snapped like a dry twig.
Miles took a slow, subtle step backward toward the heavy double doors of the study. “What… what did he say, Roman?”
Roman set his glass down on the mahogany desk with a quiet, deliberate clink.
“He said: Miles did this.”
Miles’s eyes went wide. In one blindingly fast movement, his hand darted beneath his suit jacket, reaching for his concealed firearm.
“ROMAN!” I screamed from the balcony above before I could stop myself.
Roman didn't even look up at me. He didn't need to.
Before Miles’s gun could even clear his leather holster, Roman grabbed Miles’s wrist with terrifying speed, twisting it violently downward.
CRACK.
Miles shrieked in agony as the bones in his forearm snapped like kindling. The gun dropped uselessly onto the Persian rug.
Roman didn't stop there. He slammed his heavy forearm directly into Miles’s throat, pinning the older man against the stone fireplace mantel with enough force to knock the air entirely out of his lungs.
“Did you really think you were smart enough to take my city, Miles?” Roman whispered into his ear, his voice deadly quiet, vibrating with absolute rage. “Did you really think I wouldn't notice the offshore accounts in the Caymans? Did you think I wouldn't check the surveillance footage from Bellamore’s alley?”
Miles gasped for air, his face turning a deep, sickly purple under Roman’s crushing grip. “You… you don't know… everything…” Miles choked out, blood leaking from his lip. “It wasn't… just me… Roman… The O’Connors… they have your whole territory mapped out… They’re coming tonight…”
“Let them come,” Roman growled, drawing a sleek, black silenced pistol from behind his back and pressing the icy barrel directly beneath Miles’s jawline. “I’ll feed them your corpse first.”
Suddenly, the massive front doors of the manor smashed open below.
Automatic gunfire shattered the quiet night. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The crystal chandelier in the foyer exploded into a rain of sharp glass. Alarms blared across the entire estate, red emergency lights flashing along the marble walls.
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The O’Connors weren't coming later.
They were already inside the gates.
