Chapter 3 - The Price of Betrayal
My blood ran cold. I scrambled backward on the sofa, clutching a decorative pillow to my chest like a shield. “They found us,” I gasped, my voice trembling. “How did they find us? Roman, they’re going to kill us!”
Roman didn't flinch. He didn't even stand up immediately. He slowly rose to his full height, adjusting the cuffs of his charcoal shirt with terrifying calmness. The severe, expensive lines of his face hardened into something predatory.
“Nobody gets past the perimeter security at this estate,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr. “Which means whoever is at that door was either let in by someone inside my organization, or they brought a battering ram and a death wish.”
He walked over to a sleek wall panel near the kitchen, tapped a digital screen, and brought up the security feed from the front entryway. On the crisp high-definition display, three men stood illuminated by the porch light. In the center stood Frank Russo—a bulky, silver-haired man with cold, dead eyes and an expensive tailored suit that couldn't hide his brutal thug mentality. Flanking him were two armed enforcers, and right behind them, looking pale, sweating profusely, and shaking like a leaf, was Tommy.
My breath caught in my throat. Seeing Tommy standing there on the screen, looking small and pathetic next to a monster like Russo, sent a fresh wave of panic through my veins.
“Roman, that’s him... that’s Tommy,” I whispered, pointing at the screen. “And the old man with him is Frank Russo.”
“I know who they are,” Roman replied smoothly. He tapped another button on the panel, unbolting the heavy front door electronically. “Let’s invite them in. It’s time we cleared the air.”
“Are you insane? They have guns!”
“So do I, Chloe,” Roman said, turning his head to look back at me with a lethal, reassuring smile. “Sit tight.”
The heavy front door swung open with a slow, ominous creak. Frank Russo stepped into the foyer first, his broad shoulders squared and a sneer plastered across his face, followed closely by his armed guards and a trembling Tommy.
“Well, well, well,” Russo boomed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls as he walked into the main living area like he owned the place. “Roman Vale. I hear you’ve been harboring stray animals in your nice clean house tonight.”
Roman remained standing near the kitchen island, completely relaxed, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. “Frank. I thought you were in Philadelphia. Breaking kneecaps out of town must be getting sloppy if you’re flying back just to chase an accounts receivable clerk through an alley.”
Russo’s smile faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s cut the games, Roman. The girl took something that doesn't belong to her. A piece of paper from an invoice book. My business depends on absolute discretion, and right now, that little bitch is holding a federal indictment in her fist.”
From behind Russo, Tommy pushed past the guards, his eyes wild and desperate as he spotted me sitting on the sofa. “Chloe! You stupid, ungrateful cow! Hand over the paper right now! Do you have any idea what these men will do to you? To us?”
Anger—hot, blinding, and long-suppressed—suddenly surged through my veins. I threw the decorative pillow aside, stood up on my bandaged foot, and glared across the room at the man who had terrorized my life for three years.
“Shut up, Tommy,” I shouted, my voice ringing out with a sharp, fearless authority that shocked even me. “You beat me, you stole my money, and you sold your soul to a bunch of criminals. I am not giving you a damn thing!”
Tommy’s face contorted with rage. He lunged forward past Russo’s guards, his hand raised to strike me. “You little whore, I’ll teach you—”
He didn't even take two steps.
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With a speed that defied belief, Roman crossed the room like a striking panther. His hand shot out, grabbing Tommy by the throat with bone-crushing force and slamming him violently against the concrete pillar near the entryway. Tommy let out a choked gurgle, his feet kicking frantically a few inches off the floor as Roman’s grip tightened.
“You touch her again,” Roman whispered, his voice so quiet it sent a shiver through the entire room, “and I will feed you to the sharks beneath this pier piece by piece. Do you understand me?”
