Chapter 9
The bright, cinematic lighting of the kitchen felt suddenly cold. Roman sat perfectly still, his mind processing the gravity of Sophia’s words. The abuse of his son had not merely been an act of spiteful cruelty; it was a calculated, strategic component of a massive coup. Vivian and Caroline hadn't just been torturing a child; they had been aligning with Leo—Roman’s ambitious and treacherous cousin—and the rival Chicago syndicates to dismantle Roman's entire empire.
"Thank you, Sophia," Roman said, his voice measured and dangerously calm. "You did well to tell me."
He stood up from the marble island, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt shifting to reveal the sharp, artistic tattoos on his collarbone. He pulled his encrypted smartphone from his pocket.
"Marcus," Roman said as the capo answered.
"Yes, Boss. We cleared the dining room. The perimeter is secure," Marcus reported.
"Gather the strike teams," Roman ordered, his volume incredibly low, yet vibrating with lethal intent. "Leo was at the estate yesterday. He is conspiring with Chicago to challenge my seat."
"Leo?" Marcus hissed over the line, shock evident in his thick American accent. "Boss, if Leo has Chicago backing him, he won't be alone. He’ll have heavily armed crews waiting in the city."
"Then we will bring a heavier army," Roman stated coldly. "I want his safe houses surrounded. I want his businesses locked down. If he tries to run, shoot out his tires and bring him to the warehouse. Alive."
"Consider it done, Boss," Marcus promised.
Roman hung up the phone. He looked at the two children finishing their meal. He had purged the rot from his immediate household, but the disease had already spread to the wider family network. He had to act tonight, with overwhelming, catastrophic force, to remind the Commission exactly why he was the Boss.
Mrs. Higgins returned to the kitchen, carrying thick, fluffy white towels. "The baths are ready, Mr. Valenti."
"Take them," Roman instructed. "Do not leave their side."
"Daddy, are you leaving again?" Milo asked, his blue eyes wide with sudden fear. He slid off the stool, running to grab his father’s leg with his dirty, food-stained hands.
Roman knelt down once more, ignoring the dirt transferring to his expensive suit trousers. He pulled his son into a tight, fierce embrace.
"I have to go out for a little while, Milo," Roman murmured, kissing the top of the boy’s head. "There are some bad men who need to be reminded of our rules. But I will be back before you wake up. I promise you."
"Okay, Daddy," Milo whispered, hugging him tightly.
May you like
Roman stood up, watching as the housekeeper gently led Milo and Sophia out of the kitchen and up the back stairs. The tender, romantic charm that sometimes softened his features vanished entirely, replaced by the cold, sharp, intimidating visage of a man going to war.
He turned and walked toward his private armory, ready to bathe the city in blood.
